Blink Tears
by SkySpade
Summary: [postRent] The filmmaker cannot see.
1. Too Close To Home

**WARNINGS: **Sensitive subjects, Coarse language, Violence

**Disclaimer: **All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from the work on this site. No copyright infringement is intended and nothing is to be taken seriously or as fact.

**Chapter One: Too Close To Home**

In the middle of Alphabet City one man stood looking lonelier than most usually feel in their entire life. Leaning against the brick wall behind him, taking his precious time inhaling each labored breath, his blue eyes squint wearily as he titled his head toward the sky. The filmmaker held onto his camera against his waist as his other hand ran through blond hair before it traveled down to finger the place where his glasses should've been. Eyes blinking incessantly, trying to focus on the stars above, raindrops fell and dripped over his bloodied face. He winced as the water pushed down to his bruised lip and he let out a tight, pained groan.

Mark Cohen was not having a good night.

His hair, usually spiked up a few inches off his head, was now wet from the storm and clung to his forehead. The usual coat he wore was coated with mud and dirt, showing faded green as it hung down his figure like an oversized blanket. His navy blue and white scarf was still situated tightly around his neck, covering a large bruise, and a thin hand tugged it loose. The annoying fabric was making his breathing even more difficult than it should've been.

Darkness. Everything was blurry and shadowed. Mark couldn't see anything but the black linings of the objects in front of him. His eyes widened at this prospect. The rain fell and it continued to dab at Mark's exposed eyes before he finally whipped his head back down and pushed off the brick wall. He took a few deep breaths before letting his feet guide him out of the alley and onto the sidewalk ahead, every step even more cautious than the last as Mark envisioned where he was and where the safest route to the loft would be.

It had been three months since Christmas Eve and Mimi's near death experience. The dancer had been admitted to the clinic for nearly three weeks before coming out in more health than she'd ever been in, although it was in the midst of withdrawal. Roger had stood faithfully at her side, holding her through the shivers, washing her of the sweat, staying strong as she begged for a hit and whispering sweet words into her ear as she cried. Mimi's old apartment was taken over by Collins when she moved in with Roger and Mark. Rocky relationships were dealt with on Maureen and Joanne's part, but it seemed as if the Joanne was putting up an even bigger fight to hold onto Maureen than Mark ever tried. Meanwhile, Benny had forgotten the patter of fighting and nobody had since seen him barging into the loft to ask for rent.

Then, of course, there was Mark. Mark, stumbling all alone through the streets of Alphabet City with no memory of how he got there and what had happened previously. He knew only a few things: he was hurt and he could not see anything but shadows.

Head tilting sideway, Mark used his ears as guidance as flashes of, what could've been, people wandered past him. His only thought was thinking he wasn't far from the loft–_bump!_

A garbled voice coughed. "Watch it!"

A blunt object, probably a person, rammed into Mark's shoulder, causing him to yelp out in pain. Without thinking, Mark rubbed his sore shoulder and tried, desperately, "Excuse me? Can you help me?" He turned to where the person would've been and squinted as he came face-to-face with a tall, shadowed figure.

"Wha's da' matter? Are ya lost?" The mysterious figure questioned, and Mark could almost hear the smirk in the stranger's voice. Suddenly Mark knew what he'd done was a bad idea. "Ya look a bit rich, despite the ruggedness. So how's 'bout it Mista' Filmmaker?"

Carefully taking a step back, jamming into a wall, Mark clutched his camera into a tighter grasp. "No… You've got it wrong. I'm poor–"

Useless. The larger man pushed Mark into an alley. Loud crashes of thunder and flashes of lightning continued to boom overhead. The little illumination brought the man's shadow-form in front of Mark's face as a fist connected with his gut and a hand pushed him to the pavement. Mark blinked tears back as he crumbled against the concrete wishing with all his might for some sort of solace. The offended mugger, however, was soon joined by two more figures as they tore his jacked from his body and tried to swipe his camera away from the death clutch he had on it. Mark kicked until his limbs were about to give.

"HEY!"

A bark-like growl followed as feet stomped through the alleyway and pulled the nearest shadowed-figure, who happened to be working on Mark's shoes, away. Mark continued to blink against the rain and tears as he looked up to the dark figure above him, who had built up his own strong scuffle against the three muggers. He wiped the blood from his lips and spat out the wad of crimson liquid building in his mouth before letting the hacking coughs wrack his thin body. Not even noticing that the three muggers had run, Mark cringed as his savior bent down to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Whoa, buddy. Are you okay?" Eyes flickering upwards to the man, Mark watched the shadow-form ran a hand through his hair before grasping Mark's shoulder comfortingly. "Mark?"

"Rog?" Mark croaked in reply, another coughing fit overtaking his body. "_Jeezus,_" Mark spat another wad out of his mouth. "What the hell are you doing out of the loft?"

"Man, you've been gone for hours! Collins came up and I asked him to look for you, but he came back without a clue where the hell you were, so Mimi told _me _to look; told me she'd be fine as long as Collins was there with her." Mark saw Roger shake his head. "Damn, what'd they do to you?"

"Just bruises." Mark sighed, drawing his knees close to his chest after stuffing his camera into Roger's safe hands. He moved a hand to run through his hair and massage his temple. "Damn it…"

"Can you make it back to the loft?"

"I can't see," Mark's voice was muffled through his knees.

"Well, that's okay, I can–"

"_No_, Roger." Mark cut in. "I _can't see._ Everything's black. You, you're this black outline I can only make out by voice."

Roger questioned confusedly, "Are you sure? I mean, it could just be because you don't have your glasses on. Plus, there's a pretty nasty bruise-" Roger fingered the bruise in question before whipping his hand away as Mark crumbled further into the wall.

"Yeah just- just help… help me to the loft." Mark gulped down whatever was stuck in his throat, bringing his face up so that his chin was settled uncomfortably on his knees.

"Here," Roger said, pulling gently on Mark's arm as he stood. Mark couldn't help cringing in obvious pain as he slid back down the brick wall and hit the pavement with a _thud_. "Are you okay?"

Mark cursed, "Damn. Damn. Damn…" He opened his eyes and shivered. "I don't think I can move."

"Let's get you to the clinic," Roger suggested, worry lacing his voice. "Maybe your ankle is broken."

"_Roger Davis_ wants to go to a clinic?" Mark laughed hollowly, "Come on, Rog, just take me to the loft and I'll be fine."

"You're shivering," Roger pointed out, peeling his jacket off and wrapping it around Mark's shoulder. "Here, jus- just trust me on this. Okay?"

Mark subconsciously hugged himself. "I can't get up," he whispered pathetically, shaking his head as another burst of pain rushed up and down his side. "You'd think after getting mugged so many times it would make you used to this… Damn, it hurts…"

"Worse than usual?"

"I can't _see_."

"Can you walk?"

"Honestly?" Mark questioned, watching through squinted eyes as Roger's shadow-form nodded. "No… I don't think so…"

"Come 'ere," Roger whispered, scooting forward before giving Mark his camera back. He carefully scooped the smaller man into his arms as if Mark was a newborn baby, stifling a laugh as Mark tried not to blush. Roger carefully straightened and shifted Mark in his arms until he was content he could walk without dropping him.

"This is embarrassing," Mark muttered, shuddering.

Roger just shook his head. "As soon as I can, I'm going to shove three steaks down your scrawny throat."

"Sure," Mark sighed, closing his eyes and settling into his friend's arms, his face contorting in pain. "Sure…"

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Mimi Marquez sat on the duct taped couch wearing an old pair of gray sweatpants and one of Roger's old band t-shirts. She chewed her bottom lip as she watched Thomas Collins walk around the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets and drawers as he searched for something to cook for dinner. He hummed a soft melody and happily danced through the area with a skip in his step; hand moving ceremoniously through the air. Mimi couldn't see how the man could be so carefree; she was worried about Roger, who had been gone for an hour.

"Knock! Knock!" a sing-song voice shouted from outside the sliding door. Mimi jumped in surprise. "Anybody home?"

"Benny!" Mimi shouted in glee, welcoming the ex-enemy of Avenue A as she jumped off the couch and opened the door with a beaming smile. Long ago this would've caused worried looks but, now, everybody knew Mimi was in love with Roger and Benny was just a friend.

Benny grinned as he hugged Mimi and quick-hugged Collins, never a touch-feely kind of guy like the rest of the bohemians. He scanned the room with a cocked eyebrow. "Where are the filmmaker and rocker?"

Remembering why she was so depressed in the first place, Mimi averted his gaze and walked back over the couch to flop down with a sigh. "Roger went out looking for Mark; he's been missing for a while now." She shrugged helplessly. "I can't go out…"

"Right." Benny didn't press the issue of Mimi's current situation, so he turned to Collins. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Nah. Roger's handling it," Collins replied. "What're you doing down here, man? Don't tell me Allison let you loose just to come down for a visit."

"Ha, ha, ha…" Benny mocked. "No, actually we're getting a divorce. I was wondering if there was a couch I could take for the night." He flashed a tight smile and said, "Ownership of the loft went over to this new guy from the Department of Whatever-It's-Called-Dealing-With-Safety-And-Rights."

Collins chuckled.

"Which is why the power hasn't gone out in three months," Mimi pointed out. "Should I be sorry?"

"Do I have a couch to crash on?"

"As long as you need it, down in my loft." Collins smiled. "You can use the spare room instead. I don't think the couch is very comfortable."

"Good, than you don't have to be sorry." Benny smiled. "Roger will be pleased, it's not like he didn't see it coming." He flashed another smile and opened the door to point to his luggage. "So, can I move in immediately?"

"No problem, the door is unlocked already."

"There's something we need to fix," Benny mumbled to himself as he picked up his duffle bags and headed down the stairs. "Thanks!"

Collins watched Benny's form leave and said, "Mm-hmm, he sure has changed for the better." Mimi was unsure if he was talking to her or not but before she could ask, Collins was moving back into the kitchen. He looked back at her and smiled cheekily, "How's 'bout I just order takeout? On me."

Mimi giggled. "I'll chip in."

"Save your money," Benny said as he walked back into the loft. "I'll pay. Consider it my way of saying that I'm sorry for being such an ass."

"You got any more money?" Mimi joked, sticking her tongue out.

Suddenly, the phone rang. "_Speeeeeeeeeeeak!_"

Collins groaned. "I'm going to make Roger and Mark change that, it always gave me a headache, even when I was living here."

"Ahhh, you're no fun," Mimi pouted. "That message lives in this loft too; it'd be hell trying to get those two to change it now."

"Sure, defend the drunken message." Benny laughed.

"_Hello, this is Doctor Cork calling for Thomas Collins. For the record, I would like to say that I dislike bringing this sort of news over the phone with a friend or relative is here capable of doing this himself, but, he, Roger Davis, is nearing the thin line of being kicked out of the clinic-_"

"Hello!" Collins jumped, finally coming out of his shock. "Yes, Thomas Collins- No! Well, yes, I… No, we'll be there- Yes, right away! Thanks… Bye."

Mimi stood behind Collins, her whole body shaking at the multiple thoughts forming in her mind. "What is it?"

"It's Mark," Collins said, shaking his head. His eyes glazed over as he quickly grabbed his coat. "He's at the clinic-"

Benny took Mimi's hand, leading her out of the loft. "I'll drive."

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

"Dammit, _move_!" Roger banged his fists against the door. "I'm gettin' in there whether you like it or not! Come on! I'm the one who brought him here! Let me in this damned door!"

"Sir, _please_, calm down!"

"Calm down?" Roger growled, bringing the small orderly up off the ground by grasping the scruff of his shirt in one shaking hand. "How would you like it if your _best friend_ was _torn_ from your arms and tossed into a room full of doctors with no explanation?"

"Sir, the doctor will be right out…"

"Would you be calm if that happened?" Roger demanded, "Well!"

"No, but…"

"Well, either let me in or be faced with a busted door!"

Collins burst through the waiting room door with Mimi and Benny hot on his heels. He rushed toward Roger and shouted, "Rog, put him down!"

"Davis!" Benny yelled placing a hand on the man's shoulder. "Calm down!"

"Rog…" Mimi gently took his arm, tugging at it softly. "Come sit down, please? The doctor will be out."

Roger dropped the young orderly, watching with a frown as he scampered away from his glare. He allowed Mimi to lead him over to one of the plastic chairs in the waiting room and watched through glazed eyes as Benny and Collins tried their own luck at the administration desk. Carefully, Roger pick Mark's camera up and gently placed it in Mimi's hands, mumbling that it should be kept on per Mark's own request. Mimi obediently turned it on, having been taught how by Mark, and placed it on the side table so it was pointed it at her and Roger.

"Love?" she questioned uncertainly. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Roger placed his face into his hands and shook his head. "You shouldn't be out. You should be resting."

"Didn't have much choice, did I?" Mimi questioned smoothly, shrugging easily. "I'll be fine. What happened?"

"I was so _clueless_. Mark didn't even want to come here, I had to carry him. He's so damned stubborn-"

"Sounds like somebody we know." Collins walked over and sat across from the two, Benny sitting down on the chair next to him. "I called Maureen and Joanne; they'll be here as soon as they can."

Benny shook his head, leaning his arms onto his knees as his fists clenched together to hold his chin. "Nobody will tell me anything; they said the doctor will be out soon." He frowned. "Never did like this clinic, but it's the only thing…" He trailed off and turned to Roger. "What happened?"

"I found him." Roger chuckled, the action not meeting his eyes. "He was getting mugged by these three guys and I drove them away, but, hell, I didn't even know it was Mark at the time. I mean, usually I'd just walk by because it wasn't my problem, but I got this sick feeling and I went to help… I don't know…" Roger leaned back, closing his eyes against the fluorescent lights above. "It was Mark, though, and he was shivering like crazy. He didn't have his glasses and the muggers got his jacket, but, still, he couldn't see…"

"Couldn't see what?" Benny questioned, eyes narrowing.

"He couldn't see…"

"What didn't he see?" Mimi tried patiently. "You? The muggers? What happened?"

"Me, him, _everything_!" Roger exclaimed. "_He could not see_! Everything was a big blur to him, a big shadow of images that flashed before him."

"MARK!"

"Honey bear! Damn it, _Maureen_!"

Maureen burst through the waiting room door with Joanne on her heels. She was clad in a tight black dress that reached down past her knees and had black fishnet stockings with high heels. Her eyes found the four bohemians sitting down and she questioned softly, "Where is he?"

Mimi stood quickly and with a few strides had a hold on the distraught woman in a furious hug. They pulled apart soon; Joanne coming to calm her girlfriend as Mimi muttered, "Damn rain…" she wrung out the water that had splashed off Maureen's hair.

"Hasn't let up since two days ago," Joanne replied, laughing hollowly. "How's he doing?

"How do you think if he's in a clinic?" Roger jumped, promptly shoving away Collin's arm as he stalked towards the back of the room and leaned against the wall, his arm leaning against the white plaster as his brown hair fell in front of his glazed green eyes.

Joanne looked to Roger, pursing her lips. "He found him?"

"Yeah," Collins stated bitterly.

Joanne's mind reeled through a string of incidents she remembered. "Did he witness anything? He could be suffering Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder-"

"He's not a client you can diagnose!" Mimi hissed suddenly, her eyes widening with disbelief. "He just found his best friend hurt and unable to see anything! How would you feel if you had to carry him to a clinic? This is _Roger_ we're talking about; he's not the kind of guy to make Mark, of all people, to come here!"

Maureen, still sniffling onto Joanne's shoulder, murmured, "When can we see him? I need to see him…"

Collins shook his head and took the woman's hand into his own. "We need to wait for the doctor; they won't let anybody in who isn't blood-related."

"Blood doesn't count," Roger mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else. "Blood doesn't count. We're the closest thing he has to family."

Benny cleared his throat, as if to make his presence known once again. "Come on Davis; don't stick that sentimental crap in our faces." He stood up, rigidly at first, and walked over to the musician with arms crossed over his chest. "You know Mark as well as I do, probably even more. Mark doesn't let things get to him. He hides behind that damned camera," he pointed lazing over his shoulder to the machine on the table, "and he think he'll be safe from everything."

"Is that supposed to comfort him?" Maureen questioned, wrinkling her nose as she flopped down onto Benny's vacant chair and leaned her head onto Collin's shoulder.

Roger wasn't pay attention; he continued to stare into the bluish-black carpet of the waiting room as Benny's words reeled through his mind. He tightened his freehand into a fist as the other leaned even more heavily onto the wall as his jaw clenched until he was frowning.

"Davis… You know Mark. He's the one who _survives_."

_From facing your failure, facing your loneliness  
Facing the fact you live a lie  
Yes, you live a lie - tell you why  
You're always preaching not to be numb  
When that's how you thrive  
You pretend to create and observe  
When you really detach from feeling alive_

_Perhaps, it's because I'm the one of us to survive_

_Poor baby_

Roger sighed knowing his words would come back to bite him in the ass. "Well, he might not be so lucky if he's going blind…"


	2. Steps Toward Friendship

**Chapter Two: Steps Toward Friendship**

"_Davis!'_

_A hand ran through spiky, bleach-blond hair as Roger looked idly up from his position at the desk in the back room of the bar. He fingered the cigarette in his hand for a moment, taking a long drag. Scooting back, his feet fell lazily to the ground as he as let his eyes roll. "What's up?"_

_The guitar player, Frank, shrugged helplessly as he poked his head through the door. "Jimmy needs you at the mic. They hired this geek-faced kid to tune up the sound, or some crap like that… I'm not sure. It's supposed to make us sound better. Who knows with all that damned static, you know?"_

"_Yeah, yeah, yeah…" Roger flicked his cigarette to the side before smashing it with the heel of his boot as he walked buy. His steps were remarkably slow as he nodded to the different regulars who sat at the tables near the front of the stage. Multiple groupies waved as he passed by, swooning as he winked a cocky eye and flashed a smile. Roger stepped up to the stage and slouched. "What's up, Jimbo?"_

_The overweight man in question growled, "That's Jimmy." He plastered on a faux smile and pointed a chubby hand over his shoulder to where a blond boy, looking too young to be in a bar, stood behind the stereos and various sound equipment. "This is Mark Cohen." Jimmy shrugged before walking away abruptly, but not before remarking, "Play nice, Davis!"_

"_So," Roger prompted, kicking the ground, "what's up Marky?"_

"_Just Mark." The blond blushed crimson as Roger cocked an eyebrow. "Well," he continued, pushing his glasses further up his nose as he flicked a switch on the soundboard before gesturing to the microphone on the stage. "I just need you to sing a few lines from one of your songs; and then I can probably kill this problem with the feedback." He cleared his throat. "So… Whenever you're ready."_

_Roger nodded absentmindedly, not really understand what Mark had just said. He slung his guitar strap over his head before strumming a few chords easily, just to get a bit warmed up. The lyrics Roger sung were one the Well Hungarians wrote: a hard, metal song. He soon transferred that into a softer version though and closed his eyes as the words flittered through his body. Nobody would ever hear this version because Roger was a "hard rocker" that didn't have a sensitive side._

"_Davis!" the bass player, Tony, yelled from backstage and the song was abruptly cut off. "Damn! What the hell was that?"_

_Roger shrugged, eyes turning towards his guitar to strum a few chords. "Just something I was playing with."_

_Frank stuck his head out. "Stick to the hard stuff Davis. That was just scary."_

"_Whatever." Roger gave a faux smirk before turning his head towards Mark and questioning, "Was that it?"_

"_Yeah. Have a great show, Roger." Mark nodded before turning to Jimmy to express his leave and promise to be back at the bar the same time the next day. He flashed a shy smile to Roger as he grabbed his messenger bag and camera from behind the sound equipment and walked out the door, letting it swing in the wind before slamming shut._

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

"Mister Cohen? Mark? Mark, can you hear me?"

Calm, innocent blue eyes blinked rapidly against the nothingness in front of him, blank shadows dancing. Mark was vaguely aware of the violent shivers shaking his body as stiff hands hurriedly trying to hug themselves against the frigid air. It was cold outside; that much he remembered, it was cold out and it was raining. He remembered the thunder and lightning overhead, too. Mark recalled the short walk from the alleyway in Roger's arms as the rocker's soothing words kept going, trying to keep him awake.

Now, another voice invaded his ears.

"Mark, you need to answer me."

"Ye- I'm…" His throat was raw and he felt as if he was drunk as his once-calm voice crept out of his mouth in a slurred tone, "Yea-"

"Take your time Mark. We're not trying to rush you." The feminine voice closed onto his face and was now directly above him. "I know you're cold right now, but we're doing the best we can to warm you up. Do you understand?"

Mark nodded. His back arched suddenly as a bout of pain shook his body and elicited a whimper out of his mouth. His eyes widened at the pain as he tried, desperately, to cling to the fresh air that was now leaving his body. He suddenly felt a cold plastic object cover his mouth and nose and heard the same voice telling him to take deep, calming breaths. Mark complied. His heartbeat returned to a more normal pace as he sunk into the bed cushions he was lying on. His body continued to quake uneasily; but he slowly felt the warm air rushing through his lungs, and that calmed him. He was _so_ tired.

"Mark? Mark, please, answer me. I'm Dr. Tara Cork. Do you understand?" The feminine voice wavered in and out of his ears. "I know it hurts, Mark, but I need you to try and talk to me."

"Fi- Fin… Fine-" Mark responded brokenly from underneath his oxygen mask, gently pawing the uncomfortable object away from his face. "Ne- I need… wat- water."

"Water?"

Mark nodded. He winced at the prick in his arm, another whimper coming out of his mouth. Before he could make another noise voicing his pain, Mark felt a sudden euphoria of relief splash through his veins. His face contorted in a sort of satisfied expression as a faint smile plastered his face and Mark closed his eyes.

"No. Mark, stay awake. Okay?" A petite hand gently slapped the sides of his face as his body shook through the cold shivers. "Mark? Mark, are you still with me?"

"Ye- Yea…" was his slurred reply, his eyes blinking rapidly against the suddenly light in front of his face. "…'m fine."

"Please, try to stay awake."

Mark turned his head, hearing the familiar sound of pen scratching against paper. He could just imagine Dr. Cork's business-like face s she stood to the side of his bed and checked over his vitals, temperature, and other stats that doctors normally look at in the hospital.

_Hospital_…

He hated that word: Hospital. It reminded Mark of all the times he had in with Roger when he was in the "Junkie Days" and was frequently overdosing, and after when he was going through withdrawal. He remembered going to the hospital when Collins got pneumonia, too. It had seemed as if their old friend wouldn't make it, but he did, defying the odds like always. Of course, then there was Angel. She wasn't as lucky. Mimi was next, and most certainly would not be the last.

It all seemed ironic that Mark "I'm the last to survive" Cohen would be the next bedridden in a hospital though.

"Mark? Mark, are you still with me?" The gentle slapping motion was back on his cheeks. "Mark, you need to stay awake." He moaned as his eyes had involuntarily closed shut over his thoughts. "Mark, look into the light."

_What a thing to say_, Mark snorted.

"Mark, open your eyes."

_She sure likes my name. Well, she does sound pretty._

"Pay attention. Mark? Mark, can you tell me where you are?"

"Can… I can- Can _barely_ see…" Mark choked suddenly.

He felt hands on his eyes. "Mark, answer the question."

Mark nodded, his eyes still closed. "Hospital."

"Good. Good…Now, do you remember what happened?"

What happened? Did he remember? His breathing quickened as his body let out a sudden spasm and his limbs flailed slightly, as if he was trying to get away from some imaginable enemy. Mark's eyes popped open, eyes tearing from the brightness of his surroundings. Everything was dark, everything was unfocused, and, most of all, everything was…_shadows_. Shadows danced before Mark's eyes and so suddenly the fear was protruding him and he wanted to get away. Mark squirmed, kicked, and all but yelled -except, it didn't come out as a yell. Mark let out a hoarse whisper that mixed with mangled sobs.

"Mark? Mark, I need you to calm down," Dr. Cork whispered the soothing words into his ears. "Mark, just take a deep breath and calm down. We'll ask you again later, with more time. Do you want me to let your friends in to see you?"

Suddenly the words came out easily. "No."

"No?" The words came out hesitant through the feminine voice. "Mark, you do not want to see your friends?"

"No." Mark repeated, more forcibly. He knew this act from Angel's admission into the hospital, and Mark did not want his friends to see him like this.

"Mark… Mark, please, it would be very important to let your friends come. The one, who brought you in, Roger, I think, was telling us that you two were as close as close can be. That you two, and the rest of your friends, are family." He suddenly felt somebody massaging his eye. "Now, I know you don't want anybody to see you weak, but some other things are more important than your pride." Mark turned his head slightly, wincing as his bruised eye washed up against the white cloth of the bed sheets. "Okay?"

"O- okay," Mark whispered, his voice cracking as tears began to well as he repeated strongly, "Okay."

"Okay." Dr. Crow nodded. She dabbed his face, wiping the wetness away from his cheeks. "Okay, I'll be right back."

He nodded.

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

"_Well, I did not expect to see you here."_

_Looking up from his sprawled out position on the floor, Mark wiped the blood away from his lips with the palm of his hand as he careened his head to the right at the familiar voice. He found himself looking into smug green eyes and inwardly groaned before nodding an uncertain salutation to the man. Mark slowly straightened into a sitting position and scooted back toward the closest corner; hugging his knees to his chest in a sort of protective manner. His eyes trailed Roger as the man strolled from the bench at the other end to kneel down in front of him, still wearing his smug smile._

"_It's Matt, right?"_

"_Mark Cohen," Mark responded. He pushed his glasses further up his nose, careful of the bruise under his eye "Roger Davis, correct?"_

_The bleached-blond, leather jacket wearing, toothpick chewing musician nodded in satisfaction. "So… What are you doing in my humble abode?" He stood up and gestured his arms around his surroundings in exaggerated movements._

"_Your humble abode?"_

"_I've been here a lot, you know," Roger shrugged. "I guess it comes with the lifestyle. Musician playing in a rowdy bar… It kinda spells out jail time." He flashed a toothy grin as he ran a hand through his hair. "Of course, this time I was just trying to help a fellow out after the show ended when I was walking home. Got caught up in a big brawl, cursed out a cop, and basically got booked on being a disturber of the peace-whatever the hell that means."_

"_Peace," Mark spat, "yeah, I'll say. I was just passing by this gang fight and got caught in the crossfire."_

"_Never been to jail?" Mark shook his head, soon finding Roger plopping down next to him on the hard, concrete. "Yeah, it's not as fancy as the movies show it. They won't hold you for long, you're young. As soon as your parents come and make bail, they'll let you out with a glare and then they'll slam the door in your face. It's nothing big."_

"_My parents?" It was Mark's turn to eye Roger. "I don't live with my parents. I'm eighteen and a college dropout, Brown University. I guess you could say I've been disowned, or whatever, but I haven't talked to them since I got out of Scarsdale."_

"_I hear yah," Roger sighed. "I dropped out of high school, ninth grade, to start a music career. Of course, as you can see, it hasn't been terrific."_

"_Your songs aren't bad, just loud," Mark said, thinking of the Well Hungarians' performance from that night. "That last one was good; the one from earlier, when I was checking the sound. It sounded…real."_

"_As apposed to our other ones?"_

"_Well…I didn't mean …no-"_

"_Chill, Mark. Can't take a joke?" Roger shoved him lightly in a brotherly kind of way. "I know what you mean, though. The other guys were the ones that wanted that rock-hard only shit. I just want to play, ya know? I mean, ya have to know what I'm talking about, right? Why'd you drop out of college?"_

_Mark let his knees loosen as he leaned against the concrete wall behind him, glazed eyes staring determinedly ahead. "I had to get away from everything in Scarsdale. I just felt closed in. I'm a filmmaker, see, so I felt like I needed to move into the city so I could get some hands-on experience for my documentary. Now, instead of being in a clean building with sheets, I'm living in some rotten motel with my friend, Benny. He, Benny I mean, is supposed to be finding us a place to stay and he got me this job to help pay for some kind of loft that he's looking at…"_

"_Everything goes from there?"_

_Mark nodded. "Yeah, something like that."_

"_Well," Roger smiled, "you'll be a famous filmmaker and I'll be the cool, stud rock star. Hell, maybe I can make a soundtrack for your first movie and you can shoot my first video!" He slung an arm around Mark's shoulders. "We'll be at the top in no time."_

"_Yeah…"_

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

The bohemians stood away from Roger, respectfully letting the man deal with the crisis of his best friend in his own way. Roger had long since slid down the wall and was now sitting on the floor next to the waiting room chairs, knees drawn up to his chest and head leaned back against the cheap, white plaster. He cocked his head suddenly, realizing that this was the same position Mark was in when Roger found him. Quickly, Roger then unfolded his legs and crossed them in an Indian-style position, hands pushing down on his knees as his head feel toward the floor. One question flowed through his mind.

_Why Mark_

Roger's head fell back into his hands. "Fuck…"

"Mister Davis?" A feminine voice made his whole body shoot up suddenly, eyes centering on a pretty woman in a white coat near the door where they had taken Mark. She was a tall petite woman with light brown hair and dark brown eyes, in her hand holding a silver clipboard and a small pen as she let her eyes flicker around the room patiently. "Mister Davis? Mister Roger Davis?"

"Just Roger." Roger stood up quickly. He bypassed the other five bohemians who remained seated, their worried eyes trailing him as he walked quickly up to the doctor. "Is he okay? Can I see him?"

"Roger, I am Doctor Tara Cork; let me tell you that Mister Cohen-"

"-Mark."

"Mark," she corrected quickly as she silently gestured him to the side of the waiting room, letting him sit down with her. "Mark has suffered from a case of subacute hypothermia, but currently we are using intravenous fluids and warm, moist oxygen to warm his core body temperature."

"Is he okay?" Roger questioned, still unsure of what was happening. "Will he be okay?"

"Yes, but I'd like to keep him under observation." She frowned. "He'll have to stay overnight and you may take him home in the morning if everything checks out okay."

"So, he's okay?"

"Roger…" She bit her lips thoughtfully, trying to think of the best way to approach the subject. "Has Mark ever been abused or… possibly, hit over the head?"

"What?" Roger's head snapped up. "No… I mean, well… I don't… Why?"

"We've run a couple of tests on Mark earlier and it seems that everything is fine, he's healing very well from the hypothermia and it seems all his scratches and bruises will heal in their own time. However…I'm afraid I've run across a certain roadblock. A certain visual impairment and slight case of amnesia…"

"What?" Roger croaked. His eyes turned to search for the usual comforting gaze of Collins and the professor looked to him with questioning eyes before he stood up from his chair, whispering words to the other bohemians, before walking up to Roger. "Thomas–"

Collins simply clasped his friend's shoulder. He turned to the doctor and offered his free hand. "Thomas Collins. Just Collins."

Dr. Cork exchanged pleasantries.

"Right," she sighed, "well, Collins, as I was just telling Roger, Mark is suffering from some sort of visual impairment and is accompanied by a case of amnesia."

"He told me he couldn't see anything," Roger said. "He said it was just shadows of things, outlines. He also didn't know what was happening and didn't want to come here…"

"Lack of interest, yes, it's one of the symptoms of hypothermia. Now, it is possible that the sudden amnesia is also due to the hypothermia, but that isn't very likely. What I'm thinking is that Mark's mind is blocking something out, something that may have physically hurt him in some way and the way he is blocking this certain fear is by playing with the mind. His visual impairment, however, could also by psychological."

"Dammit!" Roger yelled suddenly, finally reaching his breaking point at the talk of Mark becoming blind. "Whoever the hell did this, I will find them, I swear it. Will he see again?"

"It is poss-"

"I want a straight answer," Roger demanded as he stared down at the woman, flinching involuntarily as Collins squeezed his shoulder. "Don't give me that statistics shit."

"There is a slim chance that he will regain some vision. Right now, he is not blind. It takes time to tell-"

"Time we don't have." Roger scowled. "Will he or won't he get better?"

"Please-"

The doctor was cut off as Collins' glance turned toward her quickly before he quickly grasped Roger's shoulders with both hands and looked deep into his worried eyes. "Roger, listen to me for a second." Roger averted his gaze, but Collins continued, "Mark, he's a filmmaker. Having this sort of visual impairment, for him, is as bad as they come. Filming is Mark's life, it's what keeps him driving on-"

"He can survive without it," Roger mumbled, his tone of voice showing that he really didn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. "He can survive without a camera."

"Think about it, man. What would you do if you couldn't play your guitar _ever_?" Roger shook his head. "Exactly. Now, there's a chance, if we get past this, that Mark can get his sight back. Visual impairment is not always permanent, he can get it back."

Dr. Cork cleared her throat. "He is very groggy at the moment and I asked him if he would like to see you-"

"Where is he?" Roger asked as his voice suddenly changed to confident and hopeful.

"Now, at first he didn't particularly want anybody to see him, he is possibly ashamed, but I have convinced him that a few minutes with his friends should be fine."

"Didn't want to see us?" Roger deflated. "Why?"

"Roger, Mark's afraid right now," Collins tried to reason. "Do you remember when Angel was here? It took all of us just to get Mark to set foot in the hospital, think of how he feels now. He doesn't want us to see him weak…"

Roger nodded as he turned to Dr. Cork expectantly. "Okay?" He nodded to her question. "Now, I've put some gauze over his eyes to protect them from the lights, it seems he is still seeing shadows of people, like before, and I also have him hooked up to an oxygen mask so he can get some clean air. Try not to overexert him."

"What about the rest of us?" Roger questioned suddenly, eyes searching for Mimi.

"It would be best if it was just two at a time, but…" she chewed he lips thoughtfully. "For you, I'll make an exception. However, if anything happens I will not hesitate to call security and throw you out."

Collins walked over and quickly explained the situation before helping them all up to their feet. He watched as they followed Roger towards the clinic door before noticing Mark's camera and carefully tucking it under his arm protectively -making sure it was still on first.

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

_Roger and Mark had settled themselves comfortably in their lone cell, each with sloppy grins on their face as they sat across from each other in the same cross-legged position, knees inches from touching. Roger tossed his head back in a bout of laughter as Mark, in turn, grinned happily at the other man's delight._

"_He didn't care?"_

"_Nah, this is my father we're talking about. I came home at about 3 a.m. almost every single day and the only one who noticed was my dog, Skippy. Sure was a crazy pup, that Skippy. The beast from hell, I tell ya!" Roger laughed. _

"_A beast from hell named Skippy? Sure, I'd call that a hellhound."_

"_Hey! You didn't know this dog. He was evil."_

"_Come on Rog," Mark hid a grin, "he couldn't have been that bad."_

"_Please!" Roger persisted, "This dog was the sweetest thing when we first got him. It was all nice to everybody that came and never once tried to bark, bite, or growl at me. It was almost annoying how happy and nice that damned dog was."_

_Mark gave in. "Fine. How'd this oh-so-wonderful dog turn nasty, then?"_

"_Not sure, exactly. See, this one day he got out, ran away, and he came back a week later all…jeez, what's the word for it… Frisky?" Roger grinned as Mark stifled a smile. "You can make your own connections, but the neighbor's poodle never acted the same way either."_

"_That's disturbing!"_

"_Hey, you wanted to know!"_

"_HEY! ONE AT A TIME!"_

"_Oh, damn," Mark tilted his head to the side suddenly as his eyes glanced out the cell's bars. "Do you hear that?"_

"_Yeah…" Roger stood suddenly, Mark following suit, as they leaned into the bars and listened for the voices-_

"_SIR! Please, calm down!"_

"_We're here together! They should both be here anyway, just let us in. Besides, we paid bail already."_

"_Man, forget this…"_

"_STOP! You can't go back there!"_

"_Shut up. Here, man, just follow me, I know my way around. That damn fool got himself in trouble again-"_

"_Terrific…"_

"_I know that voice," Mark sighed. "Shit, I'm in for it."_

"_I know that voice too." Roger's eyes widened in realization. "Music enthusiast…?"_

"_Professor of 'Actual Reality'…?"_

"_Damn it, Roger! Do you know how much you screwed up this time?" A large black man wearing a knitted black hat wrinkled his nose at Roger as he watched the guard open the cell, freeing the two men from their personal hell. He switched his gaze to the smaller man and questioned, "Let me guess, you're Mark Cohen?"_

_Mark nodded and questioned, "Thomas Collins?"_

"_Just Collins."_

_Roger turned towards the other man: black, bald, and a cool exterior. "Benjamin Coffin III?"_

"_It's Benny. Are you Roger Davis?"_

_Roger turned to Mark and swung his arm around the young man's shoulder. "Well, Mark, how's this for irony?"_

XXXXXXXX

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_Well, he certainly doesn't look well,_ Roger thought to himself as he slinked his arm around Mimi's waist and listened to the woman gasp in surprise at their unusually pale friend. He let her bury her face into his shirt and carefully watched the others pack into the tiny room with the same concerned expressions on their faces. It seemed as if nobody would make the first movement, but, possibly, they were just waiting for Roger to say something.

_How can I?_

There was Mark, the young man who he considered his rock and best friend, laying shivering and pale in a hospital bed with an oxygen mask over his face and gauze covering his eyes.

_What was there to do?_

Suddenly the familiar _whirring_ sound reached their ears, and for a fraction of a second Roger couldn't breathe. The sound was Mark's camera, he looked towards the entrance of the room and found Collins standing at the door, face plastered with a tight smile and eyes squinting as he looked through the black devise.

"March 30th, 10:00 PM, Eastern Standard Time. Three months have gone by since we were all brought together again, and now something disastrous happens. I guess it just goes to show you that these are the harsh realities of living. First shot, Mark, lying in the hospital bed after Roger found him, too damned stubborn to quit -and that's why we love him."

"Mm-hmm…" Mark moaned suddenly, everybody in the room jumping and Maureen whimpered. "Ye'r really good."

Collins grinned cheekily as he placed the camera down on Mark's bedside table, making sure to keep it pointed at everybody. "Yeah, well, with you jabbering about your camera all the time…"

"Hey." A thin smile filled his face as he shook slightly, drawing the blankets closer around his body.

Maureen stepped up this time letting her hand find his and squeezing it reassuringly. "Pookie…"

"Do I look _that_ bad?"

"No!" Maureen said, a little too quickly for Mark's liking. "No, Pookie, you look… well, erm… hot?"

Red color rushing to his cheeks made everybody chuckle. "Th- Thanks." He turned his head slightly to stifle his moan. "Roger…?"

"Yeah?" Roger stood quickly. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Sorry 'bout before," he slurred. "I guess, 'm too stubborn…"

"Hey, no big deal." Roger shifted uncomfortably as Mimi edged him towards the head of Mark's bed. "I'd probably be the same way."

"Still… thanks," He felt Mimi's hand close on his own next and shivered from the cold touch. "You doin' okay… Mimi…?"

"That's supposed to be my question." Mimi smiled at Roger as she bent down to kiss Mark's forehead. "I'm doing okay Mark, just get better, okay? We'll be here for you once you're out of this _damn_ hospital."

"Least it's -_gulp_- warm." Mark smiled. "Right Benny?"

"How'd you…" Benny began but stopped at the blunt imply that he was_-_

Mark answered anyway, a small frown on his face. "I… ca- can sen…se you."

Benny smiled as he reached over to jab Mark's shoulder gently. "Ya always were a smart ass."

Mark smiled.

A small man, dressed in faded blue scrubs, knocked on the door. He shook his black hair from his eyes and looked toward Roger. "Mister Davis? I'm sorry, I need a word. I'm Dr. Adams, one of the doctors on call."

"Sure…" he hesitated slightly at the door as he looked to Mark. "I'll be back soon…"

The doctor gently gestured Roger to follow him into the hallway, a short way down from the room. He looked to him in a certain manner that made Roger's stomach lurch. "Now, I know this isn't the perfect time to mention this Mister Davis, but-"

"Payment?" Roger croaked as he ran a hand through his hair. _Shit_, he thought at the doctor's sorrowful nod. "_Now?_"

"Mister Davis, I'm afraid we cannot keep Mark here over the night if you cannot pay…"

"What?" Eyes narrowed dangerously. "Look, _doctor_, it doesn't matter how rich you are when you're in a _hospital_! You cannot refuse treatment on him just because we can't pay-" he took the doctor up by the collar and closed his face so that they were just inches apart.

The doctor placed his hands on the Roger's calmly. "Now, son, calm down-"

"I am _not_ _your son_."

"Now Davis," Benny sauntered over casually, his words drawling out slowly and effectively. He gently forced Roger's shaking hands to lower the weaker man, smiling smugly. "I think this doctor needs to get his information checked. Mark's visit is already paid for." Benny glared. "Possibly you should look to Dr. Cork next time before you think to disturb a patiently and his family."

"Well, this is…" the doctor suddenly shrunk under the different pairs of angry glares, "I'm…"

"Sorry?" Roger snarled. "You will be…"

He made a fist but Benny easily pushed it down letting the doctor run off. "Interns," the man explained easily, "they make mistakes, nothing to fuss about right now."

"Sure…" Roger frowned. "Must be nice to have money."

Benny shrugged. "Some things are nicer to have…" he looked to Roger and gave a faint smile. "Let's get back, shall we?"

"Yeah, and, erm… Benny?" Roger scratched the back of his head idly. "Man… I'm-thanks." He placed a hand on the man's shoulder and pulled him into a friendly embrace.


	3. Emotions

**Chapter Three: Emotions**

Roger's hair whipped in front of his face as the cold, crisp air blew across his skin, causing small needle-shaped pricks to cross his hands before he had the chance to stuff them into his pockets. The night before, at the clinic, the whole staff had practically tossed him from the building, stating that Mark would be fine overnight. Though Roger was reluctant to leave his best friend alone, Mimi gently persuaded him to come back to the loft with the rest of their friends for a nice dinner of takeout. In the hours of the night it had been a sort of sleepover, each of the remaining friends cautiously catching up with their time and reminiscing about past experiences. Roger had remained to himself most of the night; his friends give him the respect to be alone.

Hours past as Roger drifted in and out of various conversations looming around him before he finally watched each of his friends drift off into sweet slumber in the living room: Joanne and Maureen a tangled mess on the couch; Collins lying on the floor with an empty bottle of Stoli in his hand, Benny lounged in the armchair; and Mimi, curled in a catlike position on the round coffee table. Roger, then, took his only chance and slipped out the door. He soon found himself wandering Alphabet City listening to the sounds of the traffic blaring through the night as homeless people shuffled along the sidewalk, trying to get away from the last few bits of raindrops falling from the darkened sky.

Still, on Roger's mind were the words that continued to haunt him:

_From facing your failure, facing your loneliness  
Facing the fact you live a lie  
Yes, you live a lie - tell you why  
You're always preaching not to be numb  
When that's how you thrive  
You pretend to create and observe  
When you really detach from feeling alive_

It worried Roger. Were his words really true? Did the actually have a good meaning behind such venomous thoughts? And, if he did, would Mark survive the world without his sight, especially when the camera was Mark's whole life? Yes, Roger had to admit, Mark did have a horrid tendency to detach from the world around him. For Mark, remained on the sidelines.

_Perhaps, it's because I'm the one of us to survive._

Mark had an excellent argument, so why did Roger have to throw it in his face? Did it really help anything? Did anything good come out of it besides Roger finally walking out the door that night and leaving for Santa Fe? He came back, though, and everything was good.

Wasn't it…?

Eyes turned downward toward the gray concrete as Roger shook his head, spare drops of rain shaking from his hair. He tried desperately to shake the questions from his head as he walked down Avenue A before he decided to circle the block again, to clear his head. Roger's steps were quick, his feet maneuvering themselves around the familiar city with ease. Roger didn't think of Mark or of what happened the previous night, he just walked. When Roger was singing on stage he trusted his voice to guide him through gigs; when walking through New York City he relied on his feet; when in a bad situation he could count on his friends and, now, when confronted with a puzzling thought, Roger's mind seemed to fail him.

Walking. Walking. Walking. Walking. Walking.

Roger shook his head again. Thoughts pulsed through his brain as he picked up his pace until he was nearly running down the streets, arms pumping wildly through the cold early morning air. Roger's eyes widened slightly as his breath came out in short gasps, his hot breath coming out in front of him in a visibly white cloud before it disappeared in the air. Hair flew behind him as he continued to speed up, pumped his arms faster, and darted his eyes from side-to-side to make sure nobody was going to pop out in front of him.

Running. Running. Running. Running. Running.

He continued sucking in one deep breath after another as his legs burned from the unfamiliar physical activity. Still, Roger did not stop. Roger allowed his feet to guide him across the street. Soon, he was running through the park were Mimi was living before they found her; Roger ran past it, not even stopping. He past the Life Café soon, the one place where the whole gang of bohemians gathered in their one glorious night of togetherness. Roger still didn't stop. Roger didn't know how long it took from the Life Café to finally stop at-

The cemetery.

This was when Roger could let it all get away from him. Salty, clear tears fell freely down his face, soaking with the muddy ground his knees had just fallen into. A finger moved to trace the name etched in the gray stone before him.

Angel Dumott Schunard

1971-1990

No day but today.

Such simply words; yet they were some of the hardest notions to grasp. Roger recalled everybody tell him this: Mark Collins, Angel, Mimi, and even, at one point, the entire life support group. Still, Roger had not understood the amazing meaning of the words until Mimi's near death experience back during Christmas Eve.

Did it really make a tragic moment for people to finally realize that life was more than just living, but it was living the only way _you _can-in that moment, in your own feel?

"Hey, Angel," Roger said, whispering. "I'm not really sure how to do this, ya know? I'm not the sentimental type like Collins is, so I'll probably sound pretty crazy, but, hey, I'm desperate here. I guess I'm lost in this whole…moment…I don't know. Mark's in the clinic, as you probably know, and we're supposed to pick him up later, but the doctor thinks he may be losing his vision- Jezus…_thinks_. They'd better be certain. Something happened that night and his mind is blocking it out, like it's supposed to help him. I really don't know. Those words I said though, I think they're true and, if they are, than how is Mark supposed to survive? What if-"

"You can't waste your life on 'what ifs'. I thought I knew you better than that." Roger shot up automatically, instantly recoiling back from the calm, familiar voice of Collins. Roger looked to the anarchist's eyes, but not before wiping his tear marks away from his face. Collins chuckled. "So I'm the sentimental one, huh?"

Roger shook his head and looked down, now refusing to meet the man's eyes. "Dammit, Thomas. What are you doing here so early?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Collins shot back, a smile plastering his face. "I got up early, simple as that, and found out you had taken off. You know, at first I thought you'd have headed to the clinic to visit Mark, but it's not visiting hours and I knew you would never get in, not matter how hotheaded you would act. I knew you wouldn't even try it. Possibly it would be too hard to see Mark so vulnerable because you somehow feel responsible?"

Roger frowned. He hated that it was so easy for Collins to read him.

"So, I asked myself where I would go if I was feeling responsible for something like this." Collins shrugged again. "The Life Café is a too obvious. Well, so I didn't want to be with my friend at the clinic; I don't want to be with my other friends at the loft… Hmm, that leaves Angel. She's here, just ready to listen to anything. She won't judge you and she won't make anything harder, she just lends a helpful ear."

"You know me that well?" Roger questioned sheepishly, a finger scratching his cheek idly.

Collins smirked. "Well, I did think you'd bring your guitar. Did I get most of it right?"

"Okay, fine. Tell me this, then: Why in the world do you have _that_?" Roger pointed to Mark's camera, safely tucked under the professor's arm and making the same _whirring _sound. The lens was carefully focused on him and Roger was casually trying to move out of the shot. "I thought I left that at the clinic with Mark."

"You did. Before I left Mark handed it to me asked me to film everything. Idiot kid doesn't want to miss anything." Collins shook his head. "I got some great footage at the loft last night, though; you were pretty zoned out through the whole thing. Did you hear Joanne's story of her and Mark's first meeting? Apparently they tangoed."

"Yeah…" Roger said offhandedly, focusing on his shoes, trying not to look into the camera because his face was still burning.

Collins cleared his throat. "I can't tape ya if you won't even look at me. Or…Are you afraid people will see you crying? You are human Roger; it's not horrible to show a little emotion every now and then." Collins brought the camera up to his eye and focused in on Roger. "March 31st, 6:30 AM, Eastern Standard Time: Here we focus in on Roger Davis standing next to the _beautiful _Angel. Although you can't tell from here, you know Roger is being too damn proud for the world to see him. Very much like our own Mark Cohen."

"Is that the time?" Roger questioned, pretending not to hear the rest of Collins' statement. "Visiting hours start at seven o'clock, right? Come on, one shower and we can go over and pick Mark up, right on the dot."

"Your making him sound like some puppy you get from the pound." Collins flicked the camera off and bent down the place at Angel's gravestone before he led the way out the graveyard. "I thought we trained that boy when he first got here."

"He's still vulnerable."

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"_Mark… You've been with us for two weeks and you're still getting mugged right and left." Roger frowned as he watched the blond in question soak his eye with a bag of ice before carefully placing a bandage over the cut on his cheek. "You know, maybe I should teach you some self-defense." Roger kicked the air and let out a few jabs with his fists in example as he jumped up and down on the couch._

_Collins, sitting contently at the kitchen table, rolled his eyes. "The last thing that boy needs is to fight back just to get himself in worse shape than he already is getting in."_

_Mark just let them talk. He didn't mind it, at least, he understood where they were coming from and beside he was tuning most of it out. He leaned over the sink and turned the cold water on, letting the white gauze soak in it for a few seconds before picking it back up to dab at his wounds. Mark turned to see that Benny had come from his room and was joining the conversation, readily place his own two cents on the table._

"_Just pick a different route, it shouldn't be that bad everywhere."_

"_Right," Collins scoffed. "He'll try close to fifty thousand routes before finding a safe one, if that even exists. Stay constant. If these muggers are the same guys then they'll get the hint and figure out you're poor and they'll leave you alone. Just keep your camera out of sight."_

"_Zoom in on the New York City loft as I, Mark Cohen, enter the living room to listen in on the conversation of my friends. They continue to fuss over me as if I was a child." Mark flopped down on the couch next to Roger and smiled as the musician chuckled at his antics. "Perhaps the answer to my getting beat up is that I am a small, vulnerably guy in a big city."_

"_That's a definite answer!" Swinging a hand over Mark's shoulders, Roger grinned. "Come on, man, why do I just walk over to the bar with you."_

_Mark frowned. "I go in about two hours before you're due, Rog. Plus, I get out about an hour after you. Remember, I help Jimmy get everything ready behind the bar; I fix the sound equipment; I take out the trash; I bartend; and then I clean up at the end of the night."_

"_You came to New York to film?" Collins blinked. "Boy, you need a life outside that bar."_

"_I really don't need protection," Mark grumbled. "I can take care of myself."_

"_That remains to be questioned," Benny said, walking to his friend and prodding his black eye. He watched with a frown as Mark recoiled from his touch and began whacking away his hand. "You really do need to find a better way, man. Soon these muggings will get worse." Benny grabbed his jacket and headed out the door shaking his head. "I'll be back, I'm going job hunting," he said before looking to Collins and Roger. "Make sure he doesn't get himself killed."_

_Roger smiled. "Let me walk with you to the bar, Mark. I can help Jimbo set up and all that crap. Hell, even if he doesn't let me help then I can at least write a solo backstage where Frank and Tony can't bother me." He shrugged. "If I can help, then, well, we'll finish early enough that you can work on your documentary."_

"_Just go for it," Collins insisted. "You won't get a better offer. Besides, I'd like to see you come home without a new scratch or bruise on your body." He flicked his cigarette into a newspaper and crumbled it up before tossing it into their makeshift fireplace. Collins stood and walked over to the duo on the couch, standing in front of them with a cocked brow. "Maybe we can finally stop worrying about you," he said, ruffling Mark's hair playfully._

"_I do feel like a child." Mark swatted Collins' hand away and carefully jumped off the couch to go sulk in the kitchen. His camera moved up to his eye again as he turned around to zoom in on Roger and Collins, now sitting together on the couch, "It seems as if I have lost this battle and, actually, I am truly grateful for my friends' kindness."_

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XXXXXXXX

Roger stood under the shower nozzle for a good ten minutes before he finally turned the water off and wrapped a towel around his waist. He moved into his room and pulled on a pair jean and an old, faded black long-sleeved shirt before carefully drying his hair and combing through the many knots. He, however, gave up on the brown-haired mess and tossed his old, worn out comb into the garbage can as he walked by the door.

"Come on, Davis! It doesn't take _that _long to get dressed!" Benny yelled from the living room. "You can at least eat some breakfast."

Arching an eyebrow, Roger stepped out of his and Mimi's room. "Breakfast?" He walked into the kitchen, sniffing the scent of seemed to be actual food, something the loft often lacked. "What the hell is this?"

Mimi, perched on the kitchen counter, laughed at her boyfriend's expression and held out a plate with a large grin plastering her face. "Pancakes," she said, the food stuffed in her mouth making her voice almost inaudible. "Benny made some. We've got _bacon_ too!"

"I'll take anything as long as it doesn't have to do with Cap'n Crunch."

"Please," Benny laughed, "that's Mark's crap."

Jumping off the counter, Mimi placed a brief kiss on Roger's cheek before getting more food. She instantly returned to her perch on the counter and said, "Mark likes his cereal. We should make him a bowl for when he comes home. Or do you think we should leave some pancakes?"

"Pancakes. I need to fill his scrawny little body all I can." Benny smiled.

"You treat him like a kid."

"He is scrawny."

Roger cleared his throat, making his presence known again. "I'm sure he won't eat much of anything when he gets home." He shrugged helplessly as he sipped his orange juice. "Besides, he won't be able to feed himself…"

"Yeah… Shit, oh-" Mimi whispered, disappointment etching her features as she placed her food down, no longer hungry. "How's he going to navigate around the loft?"

"Don't worry," Benny smiled encouragingly, "we'll help him out. Just because he's blind it doesn't mean he can't live the same way as always."

Roger growled, "Well, how you know? You sold out, so don't even tell us you know us anymore. Mark's a _filmmaker_. He can't live without his passion."

"Calm down," Mimi cooed softly. "Benny is just trying to help."

"He already did," Roger continued. "Using you money to pay off the bill at the clinic. I thanked you for that. Don't try to help us understand that Mark's in for a rough time, we all ready know that. The fact of the matter is trying to figure out how Mark will deal with not being able to create and observe."

"Davis, don't turn everything we say to each other into an argument." Benny sat at the kitchen table across from the musician. "Soon you'll learn that I'm not as bad as you think I am."

Roger frowned. "Stop giving us false hope."

"_Speeeeeeeeeeeak!_"

The phone.

"_Mister Davis or Mister Collins, this is Dr. Cork, and I am telling you for the second time, on record, that I do not like bringing this kind of news over the phone. It seems as if Mister Cohen is not in his right mind to speak right now. Get down here as soon as possible-- Mister Cohen! You are not leaving until your friend checks you out!"_

Mark's voice sounded muffled from the background. The three in the loft heard a rustling sound and soon the filmmaker's voice was cleared, though, slightly cracked. "_Get here Rog, or I swear I'll walk home!_"

Dr Cork again: "_You are in no condition to walk home!_"

"_WATCH ME!_"

"DAVIS! Stop! I've got my car here! Let me drive, at least!" Benny grasped his coat quickly and followed the speeding form of Roger Davis as the musician flew down the stairs of the building and out the door. "WAIT UP!"

"Benny, stop!" Mimi rushed down the stairs before finally catching up with a fuming Benny outside of their building. She frowned as she watched Roger's blurred form rush towards the clinic. "Wait," she grasped Benny's arm before he could begin to speed after him, "let him get Mark, okay?"

Benny frowned. "Why the hell does he think I'm the bad guy in this?"

"For a while, you were," Mimi said, sighing as she gently pulled Benny back into the loft. "Don't worry, Roger's just trying to get used to the fact that you're back on our side. I know your intentions are good, but he's just being protective."

"Well, someday he's going to have to learn that I care too."

"I know."

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Collins whistled a happy tune, his head held high as he pushed himself through the double doors that lead into the clinic's waiting room. He walked amicably towards the administration desk and offered the man sitting behind the desk a large smile. "Good morning. My name is Thomas Collins, just Collins, and I was hoping to pick up-"

"MISTER COHEN, YOU ARE IN NO CONDITION TO WALK OUT OF HERE!"

"Never mind," Collins chuckled, I think he's coming." He sauntered over towards the door that separated the waiting room and the patient's entrance, getting ready to open the door before a brown blur collided into his back. "Whoa, slow down buddy." Collins smiled, catching his balance by hanging onto the door in front of him.

"Thomas?"

"You really need to stop acting surprised every time we see each other." Collins pulled his black knit cap further down his forehead before giving a tiny wave in Roger's direction. "What's the rush?"

"Got a call from Dr. Cork, she said Mark was running out."

"SECURITY!"

"I gathered," Collins replied.

Suddenly another bluer pushed into Collins from the front as the door opened. The full on run had Collins stumbling back a few steps as their friend fell to the floor. Mark was looking incredibly pale, his right eye covered in a deep blue bruise that squint up towards the two figures before him. He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully and winced at the contact of his cracked lips.

"Shit," Roger whispered. He fell to his knees in front of Mark and quickly placed a gentle hand on Mark's shoulders. "Mark? Mark, are you okay?"

Mark looked to Roger with an expressionless face, his eyes continuing to squint. Dark images danced in front of his eyes, but they seemed to hold some familiarity to them. The curves around the body, the rough voice…it all spelt out Roger. Mark let a thin grin split his lips as he looked to the next person, if Roger was there than Collins would be too. Yes, the body outline was too big and masculine to be Mimi.

"Boy…Are you all right?" Definitely Collins. Who else called Mark "boy" despite his age? The shadow-figure of Collins bent down next to Roger and helped haul Mark to his feet, clasping his back comfortingly. "Trying to run, were you?" As two uniform men, orderly or security probably, came out making Collins let out a fresh bout of laughter.

"Mister Cohen!" Light brown hair fell in front of the doctor's face as the door was roughly opened again, pushing a confused Mark forward, making him stumble slightly that Roger had to balance him before he could fall. Dr. Cork frowned at the three men in front of her and abruptly waved the uniformed men away as she began to tidy her white coat in a professional manner.

Collins nodded. "How's he doing?"

"Perhaps-"

"No. You say whatever you have to say in front of me too." Mark cleared his throat at the sound of his cracked voice, letting out a rough couch and wincing as Roger patted his back comfortingly.

Roger frowned, exchanging a silent understanding with Collins as he gently led Mark to the waiting room chairs. "Come on, man, let's sit down. You're a bit pale from that fall."

"Rog?"

Roger exchanged another desperate glance with Collins before saying, "Yeah, man, come on." He moved Mark to the nearest chair letting his eyes glance back ever so often to make sure Collins and Dr. Cork were still there. Mark flinched slightly as he let his head fall into his hands. "So," Roger tried, "were you really going to walk home?"

"You walked."

"I _ran_."

Mark looked up, his face looking slightly vacant without his usual black glasses. "Why'd you _run_?"

"A certain _somebody_ was giving hell to his doctor and I got called in. I ran into Collins, who was coming here to wait for me." Roger shrugged and attempted to smile, but soon let it fall as he realized Mark wouldn't notice what his facial expression was. "I left Benny and Mimi at the loft, Benny made breakfast." He left out the argument, narrowing his eyes as he remembered, "You didn't answer my question."

"I thought I did." Mark let a thin smile work its way up his face. "Dr. Cork was trying to get me into going into these therapy sessions, starting tomorrow. I told her not to sign me up for something I won't go to." He shrugged thoughtfully. "We don't have enough money-"

Collins came up, holding a small white bag. "Ready to blow this dump?"

Mark didn't even let Roger have time to contemplate what he'd just said. "Let's go," Mark quipped hastily, losing his balance quickly as he pushed himself off of his plastic chair. Lucky for him, Collins and Roger both had quick reflexes; he blushed and mumbled a thanks.

"Take it easy. We're not in a rush." Collins sighed, taking Mark's arm and allowing Roger to guide him through the clinic's door and down the sidewalk.

"Yeah, well, this feels pathetic," Mark mumbled, losing his footing on the concrete.

"It's no problem." Roger said, his frown telling Collins otherwise. He moved Mark to the side, barely missing a newspaper stand and sewage drain. Roger had never really noticed how many obstacles were in their way. His eyes twitched subconsciously as they passed the usual alleyway where he would buy his smack, and underneath his hold he felt Mark tense. "What's wrong?"

"Just trying to get used to this." Mark frowned. "This isn't easy."

"You should go to the sessions," Collins remarked, obviously having talked to Dr. Cork about Mark's refusal. "I've got money from NYU and the food emporium still, so you don't have to worry about AZT or anything. We're covered. Even Benny's going to be helping out." Collins smiled fondly. "It's almost like it was before everything went downhill."

_Now everything's going downhill again_, Roger thought sadly. He said, "Almost."

"Well, at least Benny's back." Mark titled his head towards Roger. "You okay with that?"

"Does everybody think I'm going to blow up when I'm around that yuppie?"

Mark smiled slightly. "Well you called him a "yuppie" and you avoided the question with another question." Roger blushed. "And now you're blushing."

Collins laughed.

"Smart ass." Roger mumbled, he shifted uncomfortable trying to broach the next question but, luckily for him, Mark answered with a small smile.

"I can sense you, remember? I'm still an observer, even if that means I have to use my ears instead of my eyes."

Collins ruffled Mark's hair. "You are a smart ass."

Roger didn't say anything as they walked up the stairs of the apartment building and carefully guided Mark up the steps. He couldn't say that he understood it, truly. Mark's words sounded confident enough, but why was _he_ so confident when Roger wasn't? How could Mark speak of his blindness like it was second nature?

Of course, that really got Roger thinking.

How could Mark hold all his emotions up when everybody would understand it if fell apart?


	4. Back To The Act

**Chapter Four: Back to the Act**

_Ambling along the quiet streets of New York City, Roger couldn't help but smirk at the sight of his friend. Mark's eyes were swiveling around wildly in his head as he whipped from right to left as they walked by each dark alley. The chuckle from Roger had Mark jumping. It had been just a few days since the musician decided to start walking with Mark and, so far, no muggings had occurred. Of course, that didn't mean Mark wasn't still cautious._

_Rolling his eyes, Roger threw his arm loosely around Mark's shoulders, frowning as Mark tensed underneath his touch. "Calm down, Mark, nothing is going to happen out here." He smirked as Mark ducked his head to blush. "Just relax."_

"_It's nearly three o'clock in the morning, we're in a bad part of the neighborhood, and you expect me to relax?" Mark kicked his foot to the ground as he pushed his black-rimmed glasses further up his face. "Come on. Let's just get home."_

"_You know, it's really not that bad here." Roger shrugged. "I mean, once you get used to the fact that we're flat broke, hungry, and freezing down to our very bones in our tattered clothing-"_

"_Is that supposed to make me feel better? Cause, it's not helping."_

"_Here," Roger unraveled his navy blue and white scarf around his neck and handed it to the shivering filmmaker. "You look like you need this more than I do." He smirked as Mark brought his hands up to protest. "It's a gift! Consider it a Christmas present."_

_Mark wrapped the scarf contently around his neck, wincing slightly as it came in contact with another bruise._

"_Are you sure you don't scream out to muggers?" Roger questioned, eyeing the bruise on Mark's neck. "Maybe it's just because you're a scrawny, white, Jewish boy wandering around in the middle of the night."_

"_What does being Jewish have anything to do with the mugging?"_

"_Nothing, but you have to admit, it has a nice ring to it."_

"_Yeah, whatever…"_

_Roger smirked at a sudden thought rushing through his head. He stopped for a moment, making sure his actions were unnoticed by Mark, as he waited for his friend to stay directly in front of him. Smirking, Roger came up from behind Mark and grasped his friend's shoulders tightly, though not tight enough for it to hurt him. Mark froze._

"_See what I mean?" Roger laughed, ruffling Mark's hair. "Relax, man! I'm here, aren't I?"_

_Looking up to Roger with a frown, Mark shook his head. "Yeah, well I guess a scrawny, white boy walking around with a masculine, leather-wearing musician does kind of keep everybody off our backs." His frown grew deeper, if that was possible. "You know, that wasn't funny."_

_Roger shook his head and gestured towards the apartment door. "Home sweet home, see? All you need is some distractions when we're walking."_

"_Well, it does help that you're here."_

_Roger chuckled and ruffled the filmmaker's blond hair. "Awww, I wouldn't let anything hurt you Marky."_

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Roger's arm flailed as he desperately tried to grab at the door of the apartment building before he could be pushed roughly onto the sidewalk. He had just been dragged from his apartment and was not in the best of moods. Eyes shimmering under the intense sunlight, Roger stared into the dark brown eyes of the businessman before him, who smirked contently. Roger stalked toward Benny and grasped the man by the collar of his suit, holding him a few inches off the ground and slamming his back into the building's brick wall.

"What the hell!" Roger screamed, his face inches away from the other man.

"You're a piece of work Davis," Benny said, coughing. He was still smirking at what he'd just done, but was cringing uncomfortably against the sharp pain of the door handle pushing into his back. "Let me go."

Flexing his hand into a tight fist, letting Benny's fancy clothes wrinkle against his skin, Roger gave an unsatisfied grunt and dropped Benny to the ground. "You're still a yuppie," Roger hissed. He looked to the door Benny was standing in front of and cocked an eyebrow. "What do you want? Mark's still in there; I need to be there when he wakes up-"

"_Need__ to_ or _want__ to_?" Benny waved a finger in front of Roger's face before walking across the street. "Come on," he gestured ahead and pulled out his leather wallet, "we'll go to the Life Café. Besides, Mimi will be there with Mark as soon as he wakes up, and Collins will be back from his tutoring session in a few minutes."

Roger kicked a stray rock across the street and down an open sewage drain. "Yeah, whatever…" he ran a hand through his hair and sauntered across the street with his fists buried deep inside his leather jacket. Roger dragged his feet along the pavement as he turned the corner and impatiently called out to Benny, "Come on! We haven't got all day!"

"But we do, don't we?" Benny easily kept in step with Roger. "Or, are you just trying to hurry time so that Mark doesn't wake up without you there?"

Roger snarled.

Benny smirked. He opened the door to the Life Café and gestured Roger in first, "After you, my good man." Roger flipped his middle finger up and Benny chuckled lightly as he took a seat at the bar. "I'll take that as a thank you." Roger ordered a soda and Benny requested water, each man asked for a cheeseburger. "It's been a long time since I had one of these."

"Well, don't expect the rest of us have been feasting like kings like you since Muffy." Roger took a bite of his burger, but stopped as he waited for the usual correction of Benny's wife's name. It never came. "Not defending sweet Muffy anymore?"

Benny cocked a brow, carefully sipping his water. "You really don't pay attention, do you?" He smirked at Roger's glare. "Well, I guess you haven't changed."

"Unlike somebody we know," Roger scoffed, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

"Yeah, well, for your information, Allison and I are getting a divorce."

Roger couldn't even attempt to bite back his tongue before his accusation spilled out: "She finally snap because of your affair with Mimi?"

Benny frowned, the smirk falling so suddenly that Roger couldn't even tell that it had been there just moments ago. "_I_ left _her_ because _she_ had the affair. Mimi and I were just friends; I told you that. Allison, on the other hand, had no problem skipping off to a condo in Brooklyn with her lawyer. Caught them when I got home early, on our anniversary, they were at our house that time."

Roger mentally blanched. "Oh… shit, Benny, I'm-"

"Don't say it." Benny waved a hand in the air. "Collins said I could stay in the spare room in his loft, the one below yours. I just figured I should tell you that I came back willingly, not just because I found out Mark was hurt." he shrugged. "Actually, I was only at the door a few minutes before the phone rang, by then they had already welcomed me back."

Roger carelessly tossed a fry into his mouth and chewed carefully, swallowing slowly before letting green eyes wander back up. "I am, though… You know?" Roger never could say the word, but he guessed he owed Benny that much. "Sorry."

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry about the whole…_rent_, deal." He frowned. "I've got a job in the city working as an assistant for this producer so I'm still getting in some money, so, you know, I'll be able to pull my weight in the loft. Muffy's-"

Roger's lips curved upwards as he interjected "Muffy?"

Eyes glimmering, Benny said, "_Muffy_'s father lost control of the building and it got handed off to some other guy that lived in a loft in a different building, the one that got burned down last month." Benny shook his head. "Anyway, they've got all the tenants a year-release plan that helps everybody save up for the rent and, if the tenants can't get the money on time, they've got help from some kind of source… I don't know. It's a work in progress. Everybody will be getting good heat, though. This new guy doesn't want anybody to revolt-"

"Like we did against you."

"Basically." Benny shrugged. "You don't have to worry about any of that, though, I've already paid both loft's rent for a year and the years before that you still owed. You're covered."

"You shouldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"It's your money, not ours."

"This is different from the last time I was offering to pay the rent Dav- sorry, Roger." Benny chuckled. "Last time I did it because I wanted everybody on the Avenue to know that I was the good guy in all of this. I tried to_ make _myself look good, I wasn't even thinking about you, Mark and the others. It's different this time."

"How?" Roger questioned, wanting more of an explanation than just a change of heart.

"My divorce brought a few things into perspective for me; it was more than just a silly loveless marriage between me and Muffy," Benny responded. "I realize that I had intentions in everything I was doing, but I focused it on the wrong thing, at the wrong time. That night, after Maureen's protest, when I saw everybody here at the café, I finally understood what I was missing. Until now, I didn't realize how much I truly missed my old life, missed the understanding of pain and missed the connection I had with everybody. You know? That bond…"

Roger nodded. "We didn't even know about it until Angel died. She's the one that showed us to believe in ourselves and our friendship…"

"In a weird way, she taught me too. I may not have known her, but she still had that same impact on me -you all did. After you left for Santa Fe, Mark and I got back to talking again, mostly about the things we'd missed out on when I got married and we reminisced about the times before everything… _happened_…"

"You'd give up all that money and power you had to come back to normal-Benny? You think it'll be that easy?" Roger smirked, the tone wasn't accusatory but, instead, friendly and playful.

"It's working, isn't it? You didn't call me a yuppie."

"Hungry and frozen?" Roger raised his glass.

Benny raised his glass too. "Some life that we've chosen."

_Clink!_ The glasses met in the center and they fell back into their stools. "Yeah…"

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Mark woke up to the same sight he saw the night before: absolutely nothing. Everything was the same deep, blank nothingness that seemed to taunt him down to his very core. At first Mark was confused, his body shivered against the cold air that surrounded him and his ears twitched uncomfortably from the unusual weight that had been wrapped around his face. His hands, shaking in slight fear, flailed around and pushed off the soft blankets that he'd been trapped underneath. He moved his hands toward his eyes, or, where he thought they were, and the feeling of odd roughness made him flinch.

Bandages.

Pushing back against his mattress, Mark pulled himself into a sitting position. Mark wrinkled his nose and smelt some sort of cuisine. Flopping his feet over the edge of the bed, feeling like a fish out of water as he coughed against the rush of air meeting his lungs, Mark winced as the wooden floor stung his sensitive skin. Mark held his hands out before his body, waving them through the air, as he walked through the frigid room, which could only be his own.

Mark cursed, yelping as his knee came falling to the hard, cold ground and hitting itself onto a seemingly steel-like box below. He rubbed his sore knee with a frown. _What am I dressed in?_ Mark questioned himself, fingering the black cloth covering his body. A clanging sound to his left had Mark tilting his head to the right and immediately wincing as a small shriek entered his ear.

"Oh," Mimi said, her soft-spoken voice lowering to a slight whisper. "Mark, are you all right?"

He felt her hands cupping his cheeks, moving his head so that his bandaged eyes were looking at her. Mark automatically looked away, ashamed. "I'm fine Meems. Just tripped." He smirked at his own stupidity. "Did I wake you?"

Mimi chuckled lightly. "Its lunchtime, you've been out for nearly _thirteen_ hours."

_Oversleeping can kill you. No wonder I feel like shit,_ Mark thought to himself as he pulled himself off of the floor, tensing slightly as Mimi's petite arm snaked its way across his waist and guided him onto his bed.

Mark remembered most of the night before, or, at least, now he did. Roger and Collins had picked him up from the clinic early in the morning; they brought him back to the loft where Benny had cooked some weird barbeque meal for lunch. All Mark wanted was soup though, something that wouldn't make his stomach flip and would go down his throat easily. Suddenly Mark felt the heat burn up his face as he recalled Mimi feeding him the soup as Benny talked to him about some film festival and Roger mindlessly strummed Musetta's Waltz. One embarrassing night down, many to go-

"Mark," Mimi's voice cut through his thoughts, "Are you sure you're all right? You feel a bit hot."

"Hot?" Mark shivered subconsciously. "No, I'm okay, really."

Mark tilted his head and felt his ears twitch. Everything was just too quiet to be the loft. No guitar being played, no _whirring _of his camera, no sing-song voice of Mimi as she danced to Roger's music, no bubbly laugh from Collins, no authority tone from Joanne, and definitely no high-pitch screeching Maureen as she practiced her next protest idea. It felt odd; like nothing was normal anymore. Of course, what would be normal without his vision? Especially abnormal to a filmmaker…

He gasped suddenly as he felt cold hands push two warm objects into his hands and close his fingers around them. He tilted his head to where the dancer was sure to be and Mimi only responded with a concerned tone in her voice. "You look like you're having trouble, just take it easy. Here," Mimi pushed a cold glass object into his hands, probably water, "take this and you'll feel better. It's supposed to relieve your headache."

Tilting the glass, Mark jumped as the cold water dumped onto his shirt.

He cursed.

"Let me," Mimi cooed, taking the water from his hands. "I don't want you to ruin Roger's shirt." She giggled lightly as she gently brought the glass up to his chapped lips and poured a little bit into his mouth. Mark sighed, his head turning as a blush crept up his face, causing Mimi to giggle again. "You're cute when you blush."

Mark felt the heat rise to his cheeks again, but shook it off quickly and questioned, "This is Roger's shirt?" He fingered the unfamiliar fabric. "Where is he?"

"Benny dragged him out of the loft to go to the Life Café for lunch." Mark could just picture the satisfied smirk on the dancer's face. "Anyway, that shirt, well, you fell asleep last night and Roger dressed you," the blush was back, but, if Mimi noticed, she kept quiet to save his embarrassment, "Collins told us that, under the doctor's orders, you're supposed to be warm. That shirt you usually sleep in was too thin for Roger's liking, so he gave you one of his old band shirts, which is about three sizes too big for you. Heh…what isn't too big for you? You need to eat."

As if on cue, Mark's stomach growled. "Well, I smelt something. Did you cook?"

"God, no!" Mimi laughed. "Benny come up from his loft and cooked up some soup."

Mark questioned in disbelief, "When did Benny get a _loft_?"

He heard Mimi let out a small sigh. "I guess nobody told you last night." She carefully grasped his arm. "Come on, I'll tell you over lunch."

One of the hardest walks Mark had ever had to make in the loft, and it was just from his bedroom to the kitchen. Mimi had her arm firmly around his own as another snaked its way back across his waist as she mumbled a few incoherent Spanish words under her breath. The _clunking_ sound, he guessed, was of Mimi kicking away random objects that blocked his path. He bit his lip gingerly, his bare feet stepping on something very, small and sharp -Mark thought it was one of Roger's guitar picks. Mimi gently sat Mark in one of the chairs in front of the metal kitchen table.

"So," Mimi said, "Benny brought some cheap chicken soup."

"Yeah," Mark's voice sounded hoarse even to his own ears, "I can smell it."

"Okay, um, here," she gently tucked, what felt like a napkin, into Mark's shirt. "Just lean forward a little bit and I can help you."

_You mean feed me?_ Mark bit his tongue back before he could actually voice his thoughts, and instead complied. A _whish_ of air resounded off the liquid substance and soon the smell grew stronger under his nostrils. Carefully, he opened his mouth before closing it around the spoon and gently chewed into the noodles of the soup. Such a simple process was usually taken for granted, but, now, Mark took great care in making sure everything went well.

"Is it okay? Not too hot?"

"No." Mark shook his head, voice coming out in a whisper. "Listen," he paused as the spoon dipped the liquid into his mouth and he gingerly chewed the chicken and noodles, "Mimi?"

"Mark?"

"I…" Mark tried, turning away, "I'm sorry-"

"For what?" The confusion was evident in Mimi's voice, making Mark frown. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Yeah, but, you and Roger shouldn't be dealing with me. I mean, I know you're doing real well with your withdrawal, and both of you are on your relationship, but…" he shrugged, "maybe I should just-"

"Don't you say it. Don't you even _think_ it," Mimi interjected quickly. "I can't even see you pulling a Santa Fe on us, especially now. You're staying right here, where you belong, with us. It may seem like a hellhole right now but, like I said, Benny's back with us now. I think that's why he went out with Roger, really, just to rekindle their friendship."

Mark raised a brow towards where he thought Mimi was. "Benny's living here?" He opened his mouth but soon the spoon was dunked into his mouth and he was coughing harshly as the noodle and soup made its way down his throat. "It's okay. I'm done."

"Are you sure? There's still some soup left, and you could use it."

"Do I look that bad?"

"Nah, just scrawny. As always…"

"Mimi," Mark drawled, "don't avoid the question."

"I didn't."

"About Benny. Listen, when I was at the clinic he told me about why he left and it's not really my place to tell you but… Do you feel it's your fault?" Mark heard the screeching of a chair and the soft patter of slippers walking across the cold tile of the kitchen. Mimi's back was to him, she busied herself by turning on the water faucet and the _clank_ing sound told Mark she was washing the dishes. "Mimi, you still with me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry Mark." Mimi suddenly shot back down to the table and grasped his hand, her thumb massaging his knuckles gently as she misinterpreted _'still with me'_ to a physical meaning instead of mental. "I'm still here."

Mark frowned. "Don't blame yourself Mimi, it isn't your fault."

"I-" Mimi opened her mouth to protest but let the words die on her tongue figuring that it was useless to argue. "Isn't it? Allison thinks Benny and I were having an affair; he was only trying to help me when Roger left for Santa Fe."

"Meems, come on now. That's not the reason, I know it. "

"Benny told her that, though, and she didn't believe him. She probably does think we were having an affair and now he's _stuck_ with us."

"So? What's the problem? If Allison doesn't believe Benny then there must not be a whole lot of trust in their marriage. Right? And, if that's the case, then its better that he got out of that relationship." Mark shrugged his shoulders, bandaged eyes staring towards the dancer's presence as he flipped his hands and comforted Mimi with a soft-spoken tone and comforting, friendly touch. "If Benny was upset with you then he wouldn't have come here."

Mimi squeezed his hand and whispered, "Why do you have to do that?"

"Do what?"

"Turn everything around and help somebody else?"

"_Speeeeeeeeeeeak!_"

"_Hey, Mimi, it's Collins-_"

Mark heard the sound of feet rushing towards the phone and suddenly Mimi's voice cut through the air. "Collins? Yeah… What? How could you forget your key? Okay- sure, yeah…no problem. Mm-hmm, they went to the Life Café together- Collins… Stop laughing! Okay, here I come-" Mark heard the window push open. "Catch!"

_Click._ The phone went back to its cradle and the window was shut with a _clank_.

Mark listened as Mimi's feet dragged along the wooden floor. "Where was he?"

"Tutoring," Mimi responded, her tone stating that she had forgotten about Mark's visual impairment and was feeling slightly guilty. "He got a phone call last night from some parent saying they would pay him extra money for private tutoring lessons."

Mark waited a few seconds before pushing himself out of the kitchen chair to move towards the duct-taped couch, using only his hands as a guide. He cringed as he felt the worried gaze of Mimi's eyes on his back, and heard her frightened squeak as he bumped into the round table before flopping down tiredly on the couch, barely missing the arm. He let out another sigh and ran a hand through his hair, waiting for the familiar _clicking_ sound of the door and the _stomping_ of Collins' black boots.

The door slid open and Collins' familiar cheery voice rang out, "Good afternoon!" Mark stared straight ahead, figuring that Collins would soon be near him so that he could feel the warm presence of the professor. "How's it going, boy?" Collins ruffled Mark's blond hair. "Hope Mimi fed you."

"I'm not _that_ malnourished," Mark argued, fighting another blush that had surely already started to creep up his cheeks. "I ate some soup, if you're wondering."

"How many bowls?" The question was directed to Mimi.

Mimi responded, "Almost two. He seemed to have a slight fever, but I gave him two of those pills like you told me to."

Collins knelt down in front of Mark and frowned. "Have you been thinking about those sessions?"

"I don't need them," Mark mumbled. "Where are you going?" He heard it, he didn't need to see, he _heard_. Mimi's footsteps were getting more distant. "You don't have to leave, you live here too."

"I'm just going to make sure Benny and Roger haven't killed each other yet," Mimi replied. "I'll be back soon."

"Yeah, okay." Mark frowned, biting back his tongue.

Collins placed an arm on Mark's shoulder and called out, "Make sure Roger gets his ass back here too! I know he didn't want to leave this morning, but Benny probably dragged him out of here."

_Always could read me,_ Mark thought happily. He looked to where Collins presence was and gestured helplessly to the white wraps around his eyes. "Do you think we could…? I just want to-"

"Yeah, no problem," Collins responded. "They've got to go back on right after, though. Come on, I'll get the first aid kit from the bathroom and change your bandages." Mark nodded, letting the older man lead him towards the cold bathroom before allowing himself to be pushed down onto the edge of the bathtub. "Stay here."

"Where are you going?" Mark questioned, fear evident in his voice.

"The bandages are in your room!" Collins shouted from somewhere else in the loft. Mark heard the bustling of movements somewhere in the area around him and knew Collins was still shouting words to make pointless conversation, just to lessen Mark's fear of feeling alone.

It was just too quiet in that room. He didn't want to be in the bathroom when it was quiet, especially not when the scenes replayed through his mind from those odd years ago-

"_Mark, come on out? Are you okay in there?"_

"_Call 911!"_

"Mark, stop it. Come out! Did you hurt yourself?"

"_Call the number Rog!"_

"_I'm coming in!"_

"_Roger, don't! Please, stop, you can't touch her! She's… she… you… Oh, God!"_

"_APRIL!"_

"Mark? Mark, are you in there? Earth to Mark! Boy, snap out of it." Mark shook his head, suddenly aware of the two hands gently slapping the sides of his face. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Mark released a shuddering breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, "just… Forget it, man- Can you?" He gestured to his bandages again, pulling them ineffectively only to feel Collins prying his hands away from his face.

"Okay," Mark heard the snipping of scissors, "but just for a few seconds."

White wraps flittered silently to the floor and Mark lifted his hands to slowly feel the extra padding of gauze that stuck over his eyes. He took one hand and pushed the gauze away from his face and used the other to cover his closed eyes. Dark bruise were suddenly exposed and the only thing that kept him from seeing -or, rather, not seeing- was the hand in front of his face.

"Mark?" Collins voice, so soft. "Move your hands."

The door _clicked_ open.

"Don't rush him." Confused, rough-voiced, worried Roger Davis.

Mark let his arms drop onto his knees and tilted his head forwards to that his eyes would certainly be one the ground. He had never felt so much weight on just the simple process of opening his eyes.

It was just as he expected, but Mark didn't necessarily anticipate the feeling to be so _unwelcome_.

"Well," Mark croaked, "there you have it."

The filmmaker lifted his head up and blinked rapidly, once calm blue eyes now a ripple of worry and fright. Bruised and black bags covered both of his eyes as they glazed over and look straight into Collins and Roger.

"Just shadows."


	5. Dealing

**Chapter Five: Dealing**

Eyes traveling around the room, taking in the darkness with rapid blinks, Mark tried to imagine the small room that had been described to him. He could deftly picture the mahogany wood decorating the tiny area: the floor, walls, chairs, desk, and even the plaques hanging around, describing degrees from different universities. Books scattered the shelves, so neatly stacked that it was a wonder if anybody ever really touched them since they'd been placed on the shelf. Mark ran a hand along the various spines, fingering the texture of the tall books and small books, thin books and fat books, each with a different type of curved title and etching. He continued to guide himself away from the book shelves until his hand flinched against the cold leather chair, which, Collins had said, was black and comfortable.

Mark mumbled to himself, feeling his foot snag behind the tiny leg of the chair. He reached down to unhook his pant leg from the offending obstacle, but only succeeded in cutting himself in the process. "Damn-"

"Here," The voice of Doctor Shelly Crow, all too gentle and soft to be true. Her voice was etched with fake cheeriness and false hope. Roger had described her as a 'blond woman, medium-sized body, and small hazel eyes'. Mark felt a petite hand push his own hand away from his leg as his ankle was wiped with a cool cloth. "A nail," she explained, "it's a new chair and we had a hard time getting it out of the box. It must've caught onto the leather."

Mark wrinkled his nose in disgust as the woman led him to the couch, almost as if he was a little kid who had just got sentence to time-out. "Thanks," he whispered pathetically, palm coming up to push the sunglasses further up his face. The same sunglasses that hid the bandages that were wrapped around his eyes.

He heard the scribbling of paper upon pen. "Mark, correct? Or would you prefer that I call you Mister Cohen?"

"No." _I'm not my father._ "It's Mark."

"Would it be all right if I start with some preliminary questions?" Dr. Crow questioned. "It's all standard." Mark shrugged, almost like he really believed he had a choice whether or not she was going to ask them. "All right." She shuffled in her seat, and Mark heard every little movement as she rifled through his file. "Have you had any abnormal reactions to the prescribed medications the doctors gave you? Physical or emotional?"

A shrug. "I don't think so. You'd have to talk to my friends about it, though; they're the ones keeping track of that. Mostly I'm sleeping, so I guess drowsiness is there-" he frowned and hastily added, "If that counts…"

Dr. Crow sniffled, and Mark heard the sound of a Kleenex brush against her nose before more scribbling could ensue. "Okay. What about your friends?"

"What about them?"

"Anything."

Fidgeting slightly, Mark let a shaky hand run through his hair and down his face before settling down to scratch his cheek idly. "I live with Roger Davis- he's the brown-haired one, probably wearing a leather jacket- and Mimi, his girlfriend. Below our loft is Thomas Collins, just Collins -the other man who was here with me- and living with him is Benjamin Coffin III, just Benny. Maureen and Joanne, they're lovers, live deeper in the city, but we see them all the time."

"Anybody else?" More scribbling.

"No."

"How about your family?" Mark stiffened, and it hardly went unnoticed under the trained eye. "Is there something wrong?" He could hear the smirk in her voice, and he hated it. He hated that Dr. Crow thought she found her target discussion.

She didn't.

"My friends are my family," Mark replied shortly. He pushed himself off the leather chair and let his hands guide him back over to the bookshelves that had occupied his time earlier. He ran a wary hand over the titles again. A sigh from her caught his attention and Mark tilted his head back with a slight smile plastering his face. "I'd rather no talk about it."

"Well, we don't have to talk about that yet." A rustling sound, the doctor straightened in her chair. "Do you like books?"

"What?" Mark questioned intelligently, hand freezing so suddenly that he almost stumbled as his feet kept moving, running into a solid object that was most likely a stepladder. "Books?" For a moment Mark wanted to slap her in the face for catching him off guard. "What do you mean?"

"You keep going back to them," she explained, cool and crisp. "Is there something interesting you see?" Mark nearly scoffed. "Or, perhaps, _feel_?"

Mark let out a disgruntled sigh. "I'm just trying to figure my way around this place. Once a week for one month, right?"

"We'll see what goes from there." She shuffled in her chair again. Mark could hear it. "Why don't you take a seat?" Mark frowned, but complied without an argument. "All right. Mark, you were diagnosed as being _visually impaired_ and the hospital sent you into my care, as an acting therapist. I will be here to talk to you and listen to you whenever you need me. Once this is over, that is, the one month has passed, and if I feel you are not in the "right condition" then I will recommend you to a psychiatrist."

"One hour?" Mark frowned, hands digging deep into his jacket's pockets.

"It flies by before you even realize it," Dr. Crow reassured him. "Now, this can either go in a complete silence, whereas the only we have would be you losing you money for the wasted time, or you can talk to me and we can work some ground. Let's start with what happened that night-"

"What's there to say?"

"Have you checked the footage of that day to see what came up?" Mark shook his head. "Why not?"

"What good would it do? I can't see anything. Besides… it's not the right time."

"Why not?" She prompted again. "Are you afraid?"

"No," Mark bit his tongue from cursing. "I want my memory to come back on my own time. Okay?"

She moved on quickly, "Where'd you go?"

"The park. I walked around for a few minutes and…"

"Yes?" she prompted patiently, more scribbling eliciting from her pen as he felt her eyes trail on him once again. Mark searched his brain uselessly but in the end only shook his head pathetically and sunk into the leather. "You don't remember?" He felt an eyebrow rise and remained silent. "What's the last thing you remember after walking around?"

"Walking around in the middle of the rain." He pushed his sunglasses up pointedly. "I couldn't see, remember? I didn't know where the hell I was. I walked around for a while and got stopped by three muggers and that's when Roger showed up and saved me. Brought me to a clinic."

"Yes, Mister Davis-"

"Just Roger."

"Roger has told me of the events leading up to the clinic." The sound of ruffling papers had Mark guessing she was looking through his medical folder. "You suffered an acute case of hypothermia, a bruise on your ankle, neck, jaw, and eyes, a case of amnesia, and the visual impairment." The ruffling sound stopped and Mark felt her eyes trail on him. "How are you feeling now?"

He bit his lips to say anything inappropriate but still managed to snap, "How do you think?"

If she was offended with the peeved response, her voice didn't show it. "What about your eyes? Roger says that you can only see shadowed images?" Mark nodded wordlessly. "Is there anything else?"

"Took the bandages off when I got back from the clinic, still can't see anything but shadowed figures. I might as well be blind." He reached up swiftly and snatched his sunglasses off his face to reveal the white bandages that were wrapped around his head. "I'm stuck with this on for a month. They'll take it off and check my eyes to see if anything will happen-"

More scribbling. Mark wanted to throw the damned pen out the window. "You don't seem too hopeful."

"Should I?"

"Should you?" she countered stealthily. "That's the question, isn't it?"

A silence.

Did he really care whether or not he would ever be able to see again? Did he care if his vision would leave him? Did he care that in just one month a doctor would tell him if he had a very good chance of going blind for some sort of reason that his brain blocked out? Did he give a shit?

_The filmmaker cannot see…_

Hell yes.

_Ding!_

Mark's head whipped to the left where the estranged noise was produced. The clicking of heels on the wooden floor and the soft feel of a petite hand around his wrist told Mark one thing. "An hour?" he questioned intelligently as he hurriedly placed the sunglasses back on his face.

"It flies by before you realize it," she repeated. "Let me help you find your friends." and without waiting for a nod of confirmation, she was pulling him cautiously around the obstacles of the tiny building. "It might help to get a walking cane-"

"No," Mark said, voice growing suddenly rough. "No canes."

"It would help," she persisted. "You would get it for free and you wouldn't be running into things half the time-"

"No," he said, the simple repetitive reply.

Becoming visually impaired was enough for a New Yorker, but, sticking a cane in his hand and having the sunglasses cover his bandaged eyes, it all just screamed out to all the muggers that Mark was helpless. He might as well have gotten a large red target taped somewhere on his body.

Mark felt the doctor tense slightly as she gently pushed him through a pair of doors that led him to one of the plastic chairs in the waiting room. A strong hand gripped his shoulders.

"You all right, Mark?" Roger's gruff voice swam through Mark's ears.

"Sure," he responded shortly. "Did you take your AZT?"

"All three of us did." Roger chuckled dryly. "You know, Mark, I'm not some little kid with a toy. I know what the sound coming from my beeper means."

Mark smirked. "Where's Collins?"

"Talking to the doctor. We'll be out of here in a few."

"Do you have my camera?" Mark tapped his foot impatiently.

"It's at home. I'll help you with it when we get back to the loft."

"Thanks," Mark stated monotonously, his cheeks feeling the heat rise up to him as he thought of his pitiable situation: A filmmaker who couldn't even film because he need a songwriter help him do it.

"Here comes Collins- What's that?"

"What?" Mark squinted his eyes uselessly, the bandages ruffling slightly at the movement. He reached his arm out for Roger's arm to lead him out of the small building but instead found his hand wrapped around a skinny, cold object. "Collins… _No_."

Collins heaved out a large sigh as he pushed the cane towards Mark. "Come on, you need to use it if you can't see." Hesitant voice. "Its doctor recommended, you need it-"

Mark frowned. "I don't _need_ it. I can manage my way around the loft just fine and you two won't let me out of the loft alone. What's the point in having it if I have somebody to help me around?" _I don't want that cane to define me_. "I'm fine without it."

"Mark-"

"_No_." Mark was so close to yelling that it scared him, his voice was strong. "No. Collins, just let it go." he dropped the object and felt a satisfied smile as it fell with a _clunk_. "Come on."

"But-"

Roger placed a hand on the man's shoulder and whispered so softly that Mark couldn't hear, "Come on, I know you mean well, but, let's not get into this right now. He doesn't need the cane right now, just give him time." He waited for the professor to nod before running a hand through his hair and grasping Mark's arm carefully. "Let's head home, Maureen is there."

"Maureen?" Mark gulped. "What's she doing?"

Collins chuckled as he scooped up the cane and twirled it in his hand. "She and Mimi are doing something for you- not sure what."

"A surprise?" Mark questioned, frowning. "She knows I don't like surprises."

"Well, Joanne isn't going to be there and Maureen did say she wanted to be with _her Marky_-" Collins let out a large laugh as the color rose to Mark's cheek for what seemed like the twentieth time that day. "I'm just messing with you." He ruffled Mark's hair.

"What about Benny?"

"He's working."

Little had been said about Benny's actual job but Mark knew that it had something to do with Benny's passion of music production. The man's eye was still favoring a Cyber Arts studio but, instead of knocking down the building, Benny was now looking at an empty space in the city. An old, rundown building that was for lease- no word on it yet.

"Watch it!" Roger's voice shouted as Mark felt the back of his jacket pull up so high that his heels were lifted off the ground.

A patient, controlled sigh was heard from Mark's left and he shuddered. "Sorry. What'd I do?"

"It's nothing. You're all right." Roger gave an apologetic look to the construction worker that had just glared and returned to his job of pouring cement into the hole in the sidewalk. "So… how'd it go in there?"

Mark averted his covered eyes, saying nothing.

"She said it went all right," Collins answered for the man. "It was all standard today so next week should be more like a regular session." The professor nudged Roger's shoulders when he noticed Mark wasn't listening and whispered, "She said he's quiet and withdrawn."

"Isn't he always?" Roger whispered back. He looked back towards Mark and suddenly tightened his grip on his best friend's shoulder before he could walk over the sidewalk and into oncoming traffic. The taxi that had just passed honked annoyingly and Roger just held up a finger. "Come on, we're close."

"Yeah…"

Roger whipped his hair away from his face before carefully maneuvering Mark across the street. He held up another finger as a minivan came to a skidding stop in front of them and the driver yelled out angrily. Mark's head fell to the ground, his sunglasses falling before he brought a shaky hand to force them further up his nose and over his suddenly-exposed bandaged eyes.

"Home sweet home," Collins said, hand moving to ruffle Mark's hair again. "Hope you're ready for Maureen." He leaned forward and jokingly made a silent whipping sound in Mark's ear.

Mark blushed.

"Cut it out man." Roger nudged Collins' arm.

"No. It's fine." _It's like normal. Like I'm not handicapped_.

Roger shot Mark a look but said nothing as he squeezed the man's shoulder and silently gestured for Collins to grab hold of Mark's shoulder so he could go ahead to open the large apartment door. He slid it open and faithfully placed a hand back on Mark's shoulder, wordlessly leading his friend up the large flight of stairs towards the desired loft on the top floor-

"Shit!"

Mark stumbled forward and fell onto the steps, his hand flying out to catch himself before his head could hit the ground. He felt the rough-texture of Roger's hand around the back of his neck as he sat there on his hands and knees panting for breathe. The pain was felt in his hands and as Mark clenched them angrily he felt the familiar liquid drip down his right palm.

"It's okay… you're okay…" Roger whispered, rubbing tiny circled into Mark's back.

"Damn," Collins whispered, kneeling doing next to Mark as his fingers carefully prodded Mark's wrist, "you all right?"

Mark simply tilted his head to where the voices came from and gave a sad smile, saying nothing.

"Roger?" a soft voice whispered from about them, making Roger look up. Above them, leaning over the staircase railing, Mimi Marquez looked down worriedly as she chewed her lip gingerly. "Are you all right?"

"MARKY!"

The color came back to Mark's face at the sound of Maureen's ecstatic yell. Roger squeezed Mark's shoulder once more and said, "Hang on, man, I'll be right back." He shot Collins a pointed look before rushing up the steps two at a time.

"What happened?" Mimi questioned, watching her boyfriend. "Is Mark all right? Are _you_ all right?"

Roger grunted. "We're fine. Mark cut his palm; I just need the first aid kit-"

"Meems! Are they here yet?"

Mimi nodded, understanding. "Maureen." She looked back down to Mark and Collins thoughtfully before nodding her head contently. "I'll get the first aid kit, you stay out here," Mimi said, sneaking back through the door.

Raising a brow, Roger questioned, "What are you doing in there?"

"That's for us to know and you to find out." Mimi stuck her tongue out playfully before sliding back into the loft, shutting the door.

Roger leaned forward and placed his ear to the door.

"Hey Mimi." Maureen's bubbly voice said, "Did you see them yet?"

"Yeah, they need a first aid kit-"

Maureen screeched, "Is it Marky! Let me see him! Is he all right?"

"He's fine. It's Collins; he just cut himself on a nail."

"Are you sure? Is he all right?"

"It's no big deal. We want them all to come up at once, though. They just want to clean off the blood, just in case."

"Oh…okay. Make sure Marky doesn't get blood on him."

"Here you go, love." Mimi winked, leaning forward on her toes to peck Roger's cheek. She raised her voice for Maureen to hear, "You make sure you get all that blood off the ground and clean Collins' cut. Can't be too careful!"

"Thanks." Roger smiled, pecking her cheek back before taking off down the stair. Collins and Mark, who was resting against the wall with his head buried in his knees, had moved to the nearest landing.

Collins pulled Roger to the side. "Where's Maureen-" Roger sloppily stuck a band aid to Collins' arm. "What the hell is this?"

"You clipped your arm on a nail and we're cleaning it up." Roger said, waiting for Collins to nod in understanding. "How's he doing?"

"He's embarrassed, but, other than that, he's fine." Collins said, fingering the new bandage on his arm. "Do you know what they're doing up there?"

"Not a clue." Roger smiled before moving to kneel in front of Mark. "Hey, you all right?"

"Terrific," Mark mumbled sarcastically, his head coming up so that his chin rested on his knees.

"Here, let me see your hand." Collins kneeled down next to Roger and grabbed the kit from the musician's grasp. Mark frowned as he held out his hand, feeling the blood drip down his palm and land onto the gritty floor below. Carefully, Collins took out some gauze and gently dabbed the tender area. Once the blood was cleaned off Collins grabbed a bottle of peroxide. "This may sting a bit…"

"No problem," Mark said. "Go ahead."

_Prrrttt…_Roger cringed as Collins applied the medicine to Mark's palm, wincing again as Mark's face scrunched up in pain. He kept his hand on his friend making sure Mark didn't move too much as Collins wrapped the white bandages around his palm.

"Too tight?"

_Cut off my circulation and I'll feel better. _"It's fine. Thanks."

Collins quickly taped the wrap down and carefully wiped the blood off of the ground before grasping Mark's right shoulder, while Roger took the left, and hauling the man to his feet, steadying him quickly. "All better." _Sort of. _"Matches your leg."

Mark flinched. "My leg?"

"Dr. Crow said you cut it on a nail." Collins replied. "It's okay. Your palm had a deeper cut."

"Reassuring." Roger snorted, his hand involuntarily tightening on Mark's shoulder. "Come on, before Maureen has a heart attack up there and destroys the loft."

On the contrary, as Roger and Collins opened the door to their loft it wasn't like Hurricane Maureen blew through, it was like Spick and Span Maureen washed over. There the diva stood, arm swung around Mimi's shoulders, triumphant grin plastering her face, and eyes glowing like a psycho. Mouth agape, Roger swallowed the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and scanned the loft as if it was the first time he ever set foot in it.

It was _clean_. Not only that, but, as Roger scanned the area, he noticed that the couch was _new_ -no duct tape in site. In the tiny kitchen, where the metal table was supposed to be, now stood a medium-sized wooden dining room set with six chairs stuffed around it. There was no clutter on the floor, either, instead a black rug sat on top of the _clean_ wooden floor. A small stereo stood to the side next to Roger's _new_ guitar stand and Mark's camera sat content on a _new_ tripod.

"What do you think?" Mimi questioned, eyes shining brightly. "We worked on it since you left for lunch. It didn't take took long."

"What is it?" Mark's meek voice echoed through the silence of the loft. "Rog? Collins?"

"Clean-" Roger announced, a small smile gracing his features as he guided Mark deeper into the loft. "Can you smell that? Do you feel it?"

Mark shivered subconsciously, hand moving to push his sunglasses further up his face. "What in the…" He moved away from Roger and walked around numbly, an odd sense of déjà vu crawled through his whole body. "Heat! We have _heat_?"

Maureen smiled. "Don't cha' think it's nice?"

A small frown. "It _feels_ nice."

"Maureen!" Mimi hissed, her voice so low that Mark couldn't hear as he continued to wander around the loft. "He can't _see_ what's going on."

"Oh!" Maureen frowned. "Marky, I'm-"

Mimi had to jump out of the way as Collins barreled forward and quickly placed his hand down, covering her mouth. "He doesn't need apologies right now."

"Mmrryy-" Maureen mumbled, eyes lowering.

Mark turned.

Mimi placed on a false grin, but quickly she let it drop as she realized Mark couldn't see. "We cleaned up the apartment while you were gone, Mark. We got all the shit off the floor, put down a new carpet, there's a new couch and table, and we got you a new camera bag!"

_Damn,_ Mark thought to himself, his feet kicking around looking for the usual clutter that blocked his path… _Blocked my path?_ Maybe that's why they did this, so he could navigate around the loft without running into things.

Pity? Possibly.

"Wow," Mark finally breathed, "I mean heat is one thing, but you got all this done in a matter of hours?"

"Benny helped." Mimi smiled, her arm moving around Roger's waist. "He made this place feel like a real home," she turned to Collins, "and your loft is spoofed up too!"

"That guy…" Collins chuckled.

Roger hugged Mimi closer to his body. "He's really trying to get back in the game."

"Why can't you just forgive him?" Mimi questioned, frowning.

"I have." He arched a brow at the look Maureen, Collins, and Mimi were giving him. "Well, I've let off a little…"

Maureen jumped suddenly as she watched Mark flop down on the new dark brown couch. "So, what do _you_ think Marky?"

"It's… nice. Real nice." Mark chose his words carefully, hand funning up and down the arm of the new couch. "At least it doesn't smell like Roger-sweat anymore."

Mimi giggled. "I'll agree on that one."

"Its vanilla," Maureen piped up helpfully. "Benny left Mimi and me some money so we could buy the candles! Yesterday was when we actually picked out the furniture though, so all we had to do was let the guys from the store bring it up here. It was all about timing."

Mark hissed, bringing his bandaged arm up protectively against his chest. He felt Maureen's petite hand on his arm and flinched slightly, "It's okay Maureen; I'm fine."

"What happened?" Maureen's eyes widened visibly. "Did you _fall_?"

"No," Mark protested. "Really, it's nothing-"

"Calm down Mo," Roger frowned. "That was there when he came out of the clinic, it's just a small cut, really; they just wanted to make sure it wouldn't get infected." Maureen chewed her lips thoughtfully. "Really, he's _fine_."

Mark held his hand up. "It's okay, there's nothing wrong."

"If you're sure…"

"It's _fine_."

"Well, dinner is at the Life Café, on Benny." Maureen smiled, blowing off the sudden outburst. "He and Joanne should there in about thirty minutes but Mimi and I were planning on heading there now. Are you coming now too or are ya gonna meet us there after you take a look around the loft?"

"I'll meet you guys there," Mark sighed. "I'm just going to wash up a bit."

Maureen pursed her lips. "Ya don't need to wash up Marky, we're just going to the Life Café."

Mark shuddered and stated simply. "Street smell."

"I'll stay here too," Roger quickly volunteered and, after receiving an odd look from Maureen, said "I promised Mark to help him with his camera. We'll be there in a few, you three go on." He kissed Mimi and gave her an encouraging smile.

"If you're sure…" Mimi smiled as she latched onto Collin's offered arm. "Well, don't take too long."

Collins nodded a short farewell.

After a couple of minutes of prying the worried Maureen away from "her Marky" the three young bohemians waved their final goodbyes and walked out the door towards the loft.

"So…" Roger started as he watched Mark move from the couch to the windowsill where he plopped down casually to peer his bandaged eyes out the now-clean window. "Do you want to head into the shower first or should I?"

"Well, ya see…" Mark blushed, his head tilting towards Roger's voice. "I mean, Mimi was always here in the morning to… erm, _help_ me…"

"What? Ah- _Oh_!" Roger looked down, suddenly finding the new carpet _very_ interesting. "Well, ya know, I could help you… I mean, if you don't think it's _weird_…"

Mark shook his head. "I don't want to make _you_ uncomfortable."

"It's no problem. Really. I used to do this for my baby cousin before he moved away." Roger shrugged casually. "Is there a _certain_ way or…"

"No… just… Yah know? Bathtub…"

_If you're uncomfortable than he'll be uncomfortable. Don't let him feel uncomfortable. _Roger sucked in a breath. "Well, wait here and I'll get the bathtub ready!" He jogged the short distance into the bathroom. _This'll be easy. It's my turn to take care of you…_

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

_Roger stumbled over the clutter lining the staircase as he climbed the many steps leading up to the loft. A vicious grin lined his carefree face as he stumbled over a pile of empty beer cans and fell into the paper-thin walls around him, a hole emerging where his hand had involuntarily punched. He slid down, still grinning like a madman and giggling like a schoolgirl. It was 2 AM and he probably shouldn't have been making so much noise, but, right now, Roger didn't give a damn. Already coming off his latest high, Roger was thinking of the stash he had hidden in his bedroom, and, at such thought, he pushed himself away from the wall and continued his stumble up the stairs._

_The need. The want._

_The hit._

_Pulling the sliding door to the side, Roger barely noticed the curious eyes of his roommate, Mark Cohen, as he flew through the living room and dashed off into his bedroom. He tossed aside the odds and ends, tearing his room apart, pushing furniture all around, as Roger's desired eyes turned to that of frantic. The hole in his wall had been boarded up and, as he tore the wood away, he found nothing to fulfill his need. He fell to his knees and clawed his now-grown out brown hair away from his face as green eyes searched desperately for another hiding placed he could've been using-_

"_Roger?"_

_Ears perked, eyes gleamed. Roger turned towards the voice. "Mark…? Mark, I need it."_

"_You don't need anything," Mark replied, his voice cool and calm._

"_I _need_ it," Roger repeated. He whipped back towards the hole in the wall and began to tear through the thin walls of his room. "I need it."_

"_Roger! Roger, stop!" Mark rushed forward and placed his hands over Roger's so they couldn't continue to tear through the cheap plaster. "Roger, come on, man, you don't need anything. Remember? You quit. Right? Roger-"_

_The musician shook his head, arms trembling in Mark's weak grasp. "I can't quit. I need it."_

"_You don't need anything. Roger?" Mark finally noticed his friend's shaky sweat-soaked body. "Roger? What the hell did you do?"_

"_Nothing!" Roger protested, his weak tone hardening suddenly as green eyes flashed angrily. "What the hell do you think? You don't understand! I need this!"_

"_Roger!" Mark gasped suddenly, feeling two hard hand close around his throat, his eyes blinking rapidly as Roger threw him against the wrecked wall and pinned him there. A small piece of plaster protruded against his back, a wet spot -Mark guessed it was blood- falling down his arched back as he wriggled against Roger's death clutch. "Roger! Let me go!"_

"_Where'd you put it?" Roger shouted, one hand coming down punch Mark in the gut. "YOU TOOK IT! YOU WANT IT! WHERE IS IT?"_

_Mark's breath hitched in his throat as he gasped for air as Roger slammed him into the wall again and Mark felt a dizzy spell wash over him as his head made a hard impact on the wall behind him. "Look! Roger… Look what you're doing! Drugs are doing this! Remember April?"_

"_DON'T!" Roger shouted, dropping Mark like a ton of bricks and taking pleasure in watching his skinny form crumple to the ground. "Don't you even talk about April to me! Especially you! You never liked her! You HATED her!"_

_Mark looked up, eyes wide as Roger stalked from the room. "Roger! Roger, come back!" Mark stumbled to his feet, ignoring the searing pain that shot through his body as he used the wall as a guidance to follow Roger into the living room. "Roger, calm down!"_

"_STOP! DAMN YOU! Don't tell me what to do!" Roger shouted, pacing. "I'm going out."_

"_No!" Mark shouted, finding the adrenaline rush through his body as he threw himself at his friend and clutched desperately to Roger's arm. "Roger, you can't! Stop doing this Roger! Remember what you said? No more drugs! You go out there and you'll be tempted. Don't go back to him-"_

"_YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" Roger shouted. "I NEED A HIT!"_

"_Roger, you're sick!" Mark tried to reason, his grip tightening on Roger's leather jacket. "Those drugs… Those drugs, they'll kill you."_

_Roger's eyes flared. "I'm already dead."_

"_NO! No, you have too many years left in you -more than me! What about Collins? He's got it." Mark cried. "Take your AZT! Just take it and you'll be fine. Better than fine, you'll be back to before…" he trailed off suddenly, biting his lips._

"_Back to what?" Roger questioned. "Go ahead! Say it! Back to before I met April!"_

"_BACK TO WHEN YOU WERE MY BEST FRIEND!"_

"_She did it too. It helped her." Roger reasoned. "She was fine with the drugs. She'd be happy with me taking a hit for her. She loved me. She's dead Mark! There's nothing else to live for."_

"_WHAT ABOUT ME!"_

_Roger paused. "I'm going out."_

"_Look what April and those damned drugs did to you!"_

"_Don't talk about her." Roger glared, one last time, before flinging Mark off his arm and against the wooden coffee table. The filmmaker crumpled to the floor, the back of his head hitting the table. "She didn't do anything to you!"_

_Mark looked up, vision blurry, to see the fleeing form of Roger. "She took you away from me…"_

One Hour Later…

_Roger smiled contently. He fingered the little white baggie he now held protectively in his pocket. A sloppy grin plastered his pale face. There was a slight skip in his step as he jumped from stair to stair before finally stopping in front of the loft door. Fingering the angelic bag once more, Roger slid the door open-_

"_Damn you."_

_Roger paused. "Collins."_

_The musician stared into deep, dark brown eyes and shuddered involuntarily at the site before him. The large man stood over a skinny, blond heap that was sprawled out on the floor -broken pieced of wood, which used to be the coffee table, scattered all around._

_Mark._

_Mark lay on his stomach, a pillow under his head and a sheet carefully tucked under his body. Collins seemed to be in the process of picking up the wooden pieces and throwing them directly into Roger's vacant, messy room. The trash piling up along with the broken plaster, broken furniture, pieces of wood, and other dirty objects that had been carelessly thrown across the loft. However, Roger didn't seem to care that Collins was throwing everything into his room; he didn't seem to _notice_, for all Roger could stare at was that blond heap on the ground._

_It was something different. Something _scary_ even. The tattered green sweater Mark had worn that day was now in pieces piling up in Roger's room, as though Collins had ripped it from his frail body, and now, instead of pasty white skin, Roger stared at _red

_Red wounds. Battle wounds._

_One particular incision piercing through his skin in the very middle of his back sticking out of Mark's body. The scar would surely be there for months. North of that wound, however, was another -a head wound. Dripping red, not too bad to think it was harmful, but horrible enough that Roger flinched._

"_Damn it Davis." Collins shook his head from his position on his knees above Mark, applying some sort of medicine to Mark's wounds. "Damn it! Look what you did to him! LOOK!"_

_Roger flinched again._

"_Collins-"_

"_No! No, Roger, _you_ listen to me," Collins flared. "You did this to him! Not the drugs, no, those were just the rush you felt, but, _this_… this was all you. And for what? For that SMACK in your pocket- don't try to hide it from me, I know you have it." Roger fingered his baggie, eyes falling to the floor. "Look at him! Look what you did! He could've died!"_

"_No-"_

"_DIED!" Collins shouted. "Is that what you wanted? Did you _want_ to _kill_ your _best friend_? Did you _think_ before you _threw_ him against the wall?" Roger couldn't even answer though. Collins ruthlessly continued, "Don't you dare say that you didn't mean it. Man, you had to have meant it. That day when April died you asked Mark to help you, to quit drugs- He is! Is this how you repay him?"_

_Roger tried again. "No. I-"_

"_Repaying Mark for going through hell with you, you go out and buy smack?" _

_Mark was still sobbing, Collins still yelling, and Roger was starting to get a headache. The affects of his high were wearing off and all Roger wanted was to lock himself in his room and use his needle, just to forget everything._

"_Damn it, Davis! Listen to me!" Collins hand whipped out and grabbed Roger's arm, roughly pulling Roger to his knees beside him so that he was hovering over Mark's scarred body. "Look at him! JUST LOOK! I can see it in your eyes; you still can't seem to get away from the drugs!"_

"_No!" Roger screamed, finding his voice, eyes moving up to face Collins instead of Mark's scarred form before him. "No. Collins, this… These drugs, they're… they… I need them… Especially now."_

"_Don't talk about _now_." Collins growled. "I'm positive too. The world does not revolve around Roger Davis; you aren't the only one with this problem. However, you are one of the lucky ones to have a friend who is willing to help." He gestured down to Mark. "But, damn, Davis, I'm not that patient. You make your choice _now_. Walk out that door, get more drugs, use em', but don't think you're ever coming back here again."_

_Roger shook his head. "Mark… Mark, he wouldn't let you."_

"_He'll get over it." Collins responded easily. "Make your choice Davis, but, before you do, just look at him. Look what this is doing to Mark. Look what this is doing to you."_

_Roger stood uneasily, his head hung, finally looking down at the pitiful form of his best friend. He knew Collins was watching his every action as he staggered away from Mark and let his hand fall back into his pocket to finger the little baggie reassuringly. Just one hit. Just one hit to numb the pain, to a sudden euphoria, and, most importantly, to forget…_

_But what about Mark? Could he just… leave?_

_Green eyes bounced unsurely from Mark to the door and back to Mark again. His shaky fingers clutching around the baggie in his pocket and bringing it out for Collin's angry eyes to glare at disappointedly. Roger looked down to Collins, looked down to the shivering, sobbing form of Mark before taking a deep breath and falling to his knees in front of them -the little baggie of smack falling in front of Collins. Sobs wracked Roger's body as he clutched his hands against the floor and ducked his head in pity in front of Mark._

_Roger crumpled, tears flowing down his face pitifully. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"_

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

"This isn't that bad, is it?" Roger smiled, sleeves rolled up and hair slicked back from the water that had been splashed on him. "Is the water too cold?"

"No." Mark shivered. "Are you all right?"

"Sure." Roger smiled. "Isn't that supposed to be my question, though?"

Mark let his head drop, soaked blond hair washing over his _visually impaired_ eyes and moving down his cheek. "Really, I'm sor-"

"Don't be." Roger cut him off, scrubbing the man's arms. "This isn't too bad. Besides, you did this for me when I was going through withdrawal, it's about time that I returned the favor and helped you instead- Here, raise your arms… How are your eyes?"

_Keep him talking, don't embarrass him. He did this for me; I can do the same for him. Just keep him distracted._

"Just shadows." Mark stared dejectedly.

_Okay… Better distraction._

"How 'bout your hand?" Roger questioned, holding up the wounded body part carefully. "I'll probably need to change it when we're done, it's getting wet."

"Stinging is down." Mark shrugged. "Nothing I can't handle… Considering… I've had worse injuries than this."

Roger chuckled as he squirted shampoo onto the blond head and cautiously scrubbed, like a parent would do for a child. "How could I forget? Collins was the one who found you laying out in front of the loft door- broken leg, couldn't get up… whatever. You were walking home from the bar, before I started walking with you, and you got mugged by Tony and Frank, my-"

"Your band mates." Mark finished lamely. "It's no problem, they were… _out of it_."

"Like I was." A sudden silence emerged as Roger whispered the words. He took an empty cup he had snagged from the kitchen and filled it with water. Placing a hand on Mark's forehead, Roger carefully poured it onto his hair to wash the shampoo out.

Mark cleared his throat, wincing suddenly as shampoo crawled down into his exposed eyes. "Roger, listen, about those days. I'm… Well, all that that happened-"

"Was _my_ fault," Roger confessed, pouring a few more cups onto Mark's hair and watching the shampoo dance around the drain. "You didn't have to put up with all that shit that I dealt with, but you did. Collins was ready to throw me out," Roger laughed uneasily at those words. "He told me you wouldn't let him. You didn't give up on me when I already did."

Mark shrugged, shuddering suddenly. "It worked out all right."

"For me." Roger replied. "You got the brunt of everything, too small to handle a full fledged druggie-"

"_Ex_-druggie-"

"…ex-druggie that could too easily kill you, not to mention infect you. All those bruises and concussions and broken bones, all that _damage_ I did to you. Mark, I couldn't even begin to tell you how much that meant to me." Roger stopped, suddenly finding it uncomfortable that Mark was done in the bathtub and Roger was just sitting on the toilet seat cover talking to his exposed roommate.

Mark frowned. "_Rog_-"

"Here, let me help you," Roger interjected, feeling embarrassed by his declaration. He lifted Mark up from under his armpits, once again noticing how skinny the young man truly was. Grabbing an oversized towel, Roger's, from the rack, Roger wrapped it around Mark and placed one on his head. "Can you handle drying yourself off while I find some clothes?"

"It's fine." Mark replied, shaking his hair through the towel on his head. "Listen-" _Clunk._ But, Roger was already gone. Mark carefully washed his body with the soft towel before wrapping it contently around his waist and using his hands to lead him back to his room. "Rog?" He saw the shadowed form of his roommate hovering over, what looked to be, Mark's bed. "Rog?" he repeated.

"Sorry." Roger replied. "Man, Benny went all out when he bought this new shit. Your room is _clean_. Your films are in boxes under your _new_ bed, blue sheets and black covers, and there's a new cabinet. Mines the same, but I've got red sheets and black covers -even a new stand for my guitar. Maureen left us a note saying that she and Mimi went out to by us some _fashionable _clothes instead of our _ratty_ ones- Benny gave em' money to spend on us."

Mark shrugged. "You're fine with it?"

Roger paused, handing Mark different undergarments before turning his back and responding, "Not at first… I guess, I mean… If this is how Benny wants to prove himself than I'm fine with getting new crap in the process-"

"He told you about the affair Allison had?" Mark questioned bluntly, his fingers fumbling as he finally buttoned his jeans and tapped Roger on the shoulder. "I mean, you seem more willing to accept him now."

"How did _you_ know?" Roger questioned, eyebrow arching.

Mark felt Roger toss a button down shirt across his shoulders and felt hands moving the buttons into place as the shirt fixated itself around his body. "Benny told me, probably before you."

Roger frowned. "I guess finding out that Allison cheated on him instead of the other way around…"

"Yeah." Mark smiled. "I get it. Listen, Roger?"

"Hmmm?" Roger questioned, frowning again as he watched Mark's face scrunch up in careful concentration. "What's wrong?"

"I mean, I know I appreciate it and everything but… What's with the confession? You know? In the bathroom…" Mark heard silence, saw the shadow-figure of Roger closing on him and involuntarily flinched back until he felt soft, comforting hands on both his shoulders.

"Mark, I meant to say that I'm truly and deeply sorry for everything I did to you. I put you through hell and I never ever thanked you, even when it was all over and I found Mimi. I just went to her and tossed you aside -I didn't mean it like that. Seriously, Mark, I appreciate everything you did for me."

"_Roger_…you're talking like one of us is going to die." Mark turned the conversation and comforted the musician. "I'm going to be fine, you know that, right? I mean, I'm visually impaired, that's it."

"Just…" Roger shook his head. "I'm going to take a quick shower, than we can meet everybody." He led the young man into the living room and sat him down on the couch, moving the camera and tripod so that it pointed directly at him. "There, now you're all set up with the camera."

"Thanks Rog."

Roger waved his hand uselessly. "Just be careful."

Mark rolled his eyes. "Nothings going to happen for _fifteen minutes_ that you aren't here." A shadowed image came at him at full force and Mark yelped as a pillow hit him across the face. "Thanks."

Roger smirked.

Mark smiled as he watched Roger's shadow-form disappear into the bathroom before turning back to the camera and smiling contently as he heard the familiar _whirring _sound that could've easily lolled him to sleep. He grinned stupidly at the inanimate object before catching himself and tried acting normally, beginning as soon as he heard the water running as a signal of Roger's shower.

"April 2nd, about, I guess, 6:30 PM Eastern standard time. To Roger Davis: Hey Rog! Take your AZT…" Mark started lamely, fingering the fabric of the new pillow that lay at his side. "I'm not sure you'll _ever_ see this, it'll probably be under my bed in a box for the rest of the year, but I just wanted to say a few things to you. Look, I know the confession you gave me a few minutes ago was hard for you to do, and, I know that I should be saying this to your face, buy, well, you know me; I'm the filmmaker. Hiding my feelings and crap."

Roger frowned, ear pressed against the bathroom door, fighting the urge to barge into the living room.

"I wanted to start out by saying that I'm sorry for everything I put you through with this visually impaired shit. There's this part of me that knows what happened out there that night, but I don't think my mind can bring itself to comprehend it. This is my problem, not yours. Maybe in time I'll remember everything that happened. If I know you, which, after all these years, I think I do, you'll be blaming yourself -for whatever reason you cooked up in your idiotic brain- and I guess I never understood why people blamed themselves for the inescapable when no matter what you do it's going to happen. Hell, I still don't understand.

"That's not really the point, though. I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate and how much I care about you. Maybe I don't say it enough as I used to, but I do… Ya know? You were the one that stuck to me, the one that helped me out of that rut I was in when I first moved to New York. It's easy to say that at first I was intimidated about you, Roger Davis: babe magnet and rock star. I mean, how could _you_ be friends with a scrawny guy from Scarsdale? You protected me though, in more ways than one can say.

"Maybe that's why I couldn't give up when you were going through with withdrawal no matter how many times I got hurt. That pain that you gave me, Roger, it reminded me of the pain I felt before I came to New York, when I was still living with my parents. No matter how many times I got punched I kept thinking about the life I could've had without you: my roommate, my best friend, and, most of all, my brother."

_Shit…_ Roger wiped his eyes pitifully, a sloppy grin plastering his face.

"Maybe that's why I can forgive for everything that you did to me during withdrawal. In some ways I think you did more for me than I ever did for you."

_That can't be true… You did so much for me, Mark, _Roger thought, peeking through the crack in the door. He watched as Mark stumbled forward to shut off the camera with a sigh. Roger shook his head, waiting for Mark to settle back down onto the couch before finally hopping into the shower.

Roger was done a few minutes later. He hovered over the blond filmmaker that had fallen asleep on the couch waiting for him to finish up and smirked slightly.

He carried the filmmaker into his room and carefully pulled off his jeans and button down shirt; tossing them into the hamper despite how unworn they were, before cautiously dressing Mark into a pair of pajamas which included Roger's oversized band shirt and a pair of Mark's flannel pajama pants. Roger grinned down at the sleeping man, ruffling Mark's hair and feeling content that Mark would stay asleep. Walking back into the living room, Roger dialed the number to Joanne's cell and quickly explained the situation. He settled down on the couch, staring directly at Mark's closed doorway, and played Musetta's Waltz.


	6. Remember When?

**Chapter Six: Remember When?**

_Mark woke up to the shining light of a beautiful morning. His eyes shimmered happily as he turned over onto his side and tossed a hand over his girlfriend's sleeping form, snuggling closer as she awoke. Dark curls bounced as Maureen rose slightly to turn and land a smooth kiss on Mark's welcoming lips. Smiling seductively, Maureen grinned as she let her fingers wander up and down Mark's back, giggling as he tensed at her touch._

"_Pookie…" Maureen smiled, turning slightly as Mark kissed her neck. "I really need to go."_

"_There's no rush," Mark whispered, trapping Maureen into a kiss as he felt her hands snake around behind his head so their kiss could grow even fiercer as they smiled against each other's lips._

_Giggling lightly as Mark kissed her neck, Maureen placed her hands on Mark's shoulders and smiled. "Pookie, I wish I could stay, but I promised my friend that I would help her with this scene she's auditioning for tonight. She needs my moral support."_

"_Later tonight…" Mark argued, pulling back and rolling over so that his hand was propping his head off the mattress. "Come on Maureen, we haven't spent time together in weeks."_

"_Hang out with Roger and April," Maureen suggested. She pushed herself off the bed and carefully pulled her tight black shirt over her shoulders before slipping into her mini-skirt and placing on her sandals. "We haven't seen them in a long time either."_

_Mark rolled his eyes. "I'd really rather not get caught into whatever they're doing."_

"_Come on Pookie," Maureen ran her hands through his hair and played with his bangs as she leaned in and kissed his cheek. "My friend has been trying to get this part all month! I can't just walk out on her now."_

"_Fine," Mark said, kissing her lips. He hopped off the bed and pushed his glasses further up his face before following Maureen toward the living room of his loft. "Do you need to shower first?"_

"_Nah, it's okay." Maureen smirked, checking her watch. "I'm late meeting my friend at her house, so maybe I can get her to let me use her shower. It's no problem." She placed her hand on his cheek and kissed him softly on the lips. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay? It'll be a birthday you won't forget."_

_Mark smirked, tugging her hand as if he was a child. "Promise?"_

_Maureen pulled him into one last kiss, whispering into his lips, "Promise."_

_She turned dramatically and waved to him behind her back, sliding the door open before rushing out the loft. Watching the fleeing form of his girlfriend rush down the stairs, Mark slammed the door of the loft as hard as he could. Why he put up with Maureen Johnson was something that still needed to be argued about. Rollins his eyes again, Mark wandered into the kitchen to fix himself a bowl of stale Cap'n Crunch before walking back into the living room to press the button under the blinking red light on the answering machine._

_Beep._

"_Hey Mark, Roger, it's…Benny." Sleazebag. "Listen, I know you probably don't want to hear from me, but I wanted to tell you that I'm moving deeper into the city with Allison. Can you pass the news to Collins? I'm thinking of some ways to fix the loft up…okay? I- I've been talking to Mr. Grey, and he was telling me about this plan to knock down some buildings to build a studio -Cyber Arts. I'll get to run it and, of course, you two will be partners with me once it gets started. Well… I guess that's it. I'm sorry about how we left things. I'll talk to you later. Bye."_

_Mark shook his head, still eating his cereal he flopped down on the duct taped couch._

_Beep._

"_What's up bitches?" Collins. "Just callin' in to see how you two, or, rather, how the four of you are doing without me! I'm assuming April and Maureen haven't dumped your asses yet. Early call for a happy birthday Mark, tomorrow you'll be another year older! Heh, hard to imagine. Well, I've got my vacation coming up in two months, so I'll be back around Christmastime. Don't worry, Mark, I know you are, but I'm taking my AZT. Later."_

_Smiling, Mark tossed the bowl in the sink and began washing the few dishes that were stacked on the counter. It was Roger's night yesterday._

_Beep._

"_Hey Mark, pick up the damn phone!" Speak of the devil. "You and Maureen must be sleeping. Lazy ass, it's only 3 AM. Well, I can't get home tonight because my band got this last minute gig uptown that I need to do. Don't worry, I'm bunking with a friend so I'll be back sometime in the afternoon. Can you apologize to April for me? She keeps telling me she has something important to tell me, and I feel bad for blowing her off all week…"_

_Beep. End of the messages._

'_Funny,' thought Mark as he wiped his hands on the dishtowel and placed the now clean bowl into the top cupboard. 'I wonder if April got home last night. She didn't say anything.'_

_Padding across the loft, Mark cautiously knocked on Roger's bedroom door as he called out, "April? April, are you in there?" Receiving no answer, Mark frowned. "I'm coming in!" He stuck his head in the door and peered into the messy room, looking for a sign of human life. Kicking clothes out of the way, Mark shook his head at his roommates cleaning habits, or, rather, lack of._

_No sign of April._

_Odd._

'_Probably ended up staying somewhere else.' Mark dismissed the girl's absence. 'Collins and Roger are right. I worry too much.'_

_Letting out a small sigh, Mark pushed his glasses further up his face and walked back toward the living room. Such a slow day already. Mark wasn't sure whether to be thankful or bored. Still, Mark still had one thing he could do today-_

"_October 25th, eight a.m. Eastern standard time. Zoom in on the empty New York loft, once filled with six people now sunk down to one Mark Cohen. Seems as if Collins is having a blast at NYU, Benny's being his new slimy self with Allison, Maureen's actions are questionable, Roger's being busy with his band, and April's who-knows-where. Then there's me…alone… "_

_Mark shrugged, turning off his camera as he thought to himself, 'I might as well take myself up on that shower offer.' Hell, what else was there to do? Right after he could enjoy the nice slow day to wander into the city to look for some footage for his documentary. Nobody would miss him, anyway. Why waste a perfectly beautiful day staying in the loft._

_Nodding at his agenda, Mark walked to the bathroom door-_

_Stop. Blink. Breathe._

_Don't cry. Don't scream._

_The camera fell from Mark's shaky grasp and, without care or thought, Mark didn't even flinch as his precious camera fell to the ground, evolving into nothing more but pieces of black and silver metal. The handle continued to crank endlessly- Mark didn't notice. Mark didn't care._

_Don't cry. Don't scream._

_Stay calm Cohen._

_Don't think._

_Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry._

_Mark couldn't help it. He blinked through the multiple salt water tears flowing down his cheeks. Mark cried, falling onto his knees into the unwelcome crimson liquid that had stuck into the white tile. "Oh-"_

_There came a strangled sort of gasp burning up Mark's throat as he tossed himself foreword and promptly threw up into the toilet. Threw up into the toilet that was sitting right next to her. Right next to… her._

_Eyes wide open. Mouth twisted into a sadistic smile. Blood covered._

_April._

_Dead April._

_About a thousand profanities escaped Mark right then and there. He fell backward, trying not to listen to the disgusted 'splashing' sound of liquid pooling under his slipper covered feet. Mark was suddenly in a daze. There was no escaping it. Eyes had widened into that of worry as Mark turned to the blood-soaked sink and turned the water on. He looked up into the crimson mirror to find tears streaming freely down his cheeks and than… Something was wrong…_

_Was he reading it right? Was it true?_

"_We have AIDS."_

_Mark whipped around and turned to April -Dead April- eyes widening by the second as he looking into her lifeless eyes. _

_It couldn't be. Could it?_

_Poor April…_

_Shit!_

_Poor Roger!_

"_Gah…" More of a gurgle eliciting from Mark's throat as his breath hitched involuntarily._

_His best friend had AIDS._

'_No…' Mark thought rushing to the sink, blurry eyes ignoring the bloody message written in red as he washed the blood from his hands. 'Roger doesn't have AIDS. We'd know if he did. He'd have to have HIV first.' Mark checked his wet hands to see if any of the blood had gotten into his system. To his relief, he found nothing. However, he still needed to get checked._

_First Collins and now Roger. The number of people in Mark's future had just gotten smaller._

_No more April._

_How could she smile like that? How could she smile at her own death?_

_Mark gazed down at her, still blinking the tears away. She'd slit her wrists, it was obvious._

"… _She kept telling me she had something important to discuss and I feel kind of bad blowing her off all week…" That damned message._

_Suddenly, Roger's voice: "Shit Mark, what happened to your camera?" _

_Did the loft door open? Mark turned around._

"_Mark?" Roger was standing in the doorway looking down at the black pieces on the floor. "What happened?"_

_He hadn't seen April. Mark would keep it that way._

_Mark all but tackled Roger in the chest, pushing the bigger man out of the bathroom and slamming the door in his face. He knew Roger had probably seen the blood, but, did he see April yet?_

_A soft knock. "Mark? What the hell, man?"_

"_Stay out!" Mark shuddered, his voice coming out in a shaky sob._

"_Mark?" The knock was more forceful this time. "What's wrong? I saw blood! Is everything okay?" _

'_NO!' Mark wanted to shout, but instead he chocked on another sob. "Stay out! Just stay out!"_

"_Mark! Let me in!" Roger shouted, worried. "Mark!"_

_Mark, meanwhile, was frantically grabbing gloves and towels from under the cupboard and trying to soak up all the blood he could. Everything was so blurry though, Mark wasn't sure of what he was doing._

"_Mark!" Roger shouted. It sounded as if the musician was throwing his body at the door. "Mark! Come on man, you're scaring me."_

"_Roger! Don't please!" Mark cried. "Just stop!"_

"_Mark? What's wrong?"_

"_Don't come in!"_

"_Mark, come on out. Are you okay in there?"_

"_Call 911!"_

"_Mark, stop it. Come out! Did you hurt yourself?"_

"_Call the number Rog!" _

"_I'm coming in!"_

"_Roger, don't! Please, stop, you can't touch her! She's… she… you… Oh, God!"_

_Roger flew through into the room with the door flying off the hinges breaking into pieces onto the blood-soaked floor. The brown-haired musician froze._

"_APRIL!"_

_Rushing forward, Mark caught the taller man into an embrace as Roger fell to his knees. Mark ignored the infected blood as he held his friend in his arms, cringing as Roger let out a strangled sob that sounded like broken moan. His green eyes had fixated themselves on his dead girlfriend. Mark couldn't handle the weight, he blinked back his tears and leaned forward so that his face was buried into Roger's jacket, suddenly feeling comfort as Roger's arms worked their way around Mark's own body. They held to each other for all their lives worth, crying._

_And then there was April._

_Dead April._

_CRASH!_

Roger awoke with a jolt, the sudden sound of thunder making him bite back his tongue from screaming out. Sweat poured down his forehead as he attempted to steady his suddenly-erratic heartbeat. It had been a long time since he'd thought about that day.

"Roger?" Mimi's weary voice reached Roger's ear and a petite hand covered his bare chest. Roger shivered. "Love, are you all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course," Roger said, feeling his breath settle down to a normal pace. He looked to the digital clock next to his bed and read 5 AM. "Shit, it's early. Go back to bed Mimi, we've still got a few more hours until we have to get up."

Mimi moaned, kissing Roger's cheek, "Are you sure? You sound horrible."

"Thanks," Roger said sarcastically, brushing Mimi's curly hair. "I guess I'm thirsty. I'll be back, love, I'm going to get a drink."

"Nightmare?" Mimi questioned, propping herself up by the arm as she watched Roger hop off the bed and pull on a shirt.

"Of course not. The storm woke me up."

"Liar. Are you sure you're all right?"

Roger nodded, patting her shoulder. "I'll be back in a second. Get some rest, you need it."

Mimi flopped back over onto her stomach and buried her head into her pillow. "You're just as bad as Mark sometimes."

"Wait-" Roger stopped; he looked down at Mimi and saw that she was all ready working her way back into the calm slumber he had disrupted her of. He let his protest die in his throat and smiled down at the sleeping woman. "I love you, baby. You know that, right?"

Mimi's reply landed on deaf ears as Roger walked from the room. "I love you too."

Letting out a deep sigh, Roger pushed open the door from his bedroom and wandered into the living room, immediately recoiling at the sight before him- Mark, sitting in the windowsill, looking down at the empty streets of New York.

Three weeks had past since Mark's therapy session and two more had followed the weeks after. It was the same deal usually, Mark would insist that nothing particularly meaningful happened and would change the subject as quickly as it came. The one day Roger did question Dr. Crow about it; all she could say was that she needed to respect her patient's privacy. Doctor-patient confidentiality.

"_It's nothing new, Mister Davis,_" She had said, writing something into a file that had Mark's name plastered all over the front. Roger wanted to see it. "_I'm sure, once he gets more into the sessions, Mark will start understanding everything a bit better._"

"_Bull,_" Roger had responded simply.

Mark was, since then, spending most of his time perched in the windowsill watching the world fly by him. He watched it slowly fade in front of his glaze eyes, now refusing to wear his bandages, as he ignored everybody who tried to talk to him. Mostly the other bohemians would give him his space, saying that all he needed was time, but Roger knew Mark better than that. So much was bottled up inside the young filmmaker and Roger was sure everything would spill out when they'd least expect it.

_You pretend to create and observe_  
_When you really detach from feeling alive_

For some reason Roger thought those words stung himself more than they stung Mark. Mark had coped with the fact; Roger hadn't. Mark didn't deserve to have everything thrown into his face like that; maybe Roger did…

Walking forward, Roger squint his eyes through the darkness and observed his friend. Mark had taken quite care in placing one of the red velvet pillows against the wall where his back leaned against and had drawn his knees loosely against his chest. His right cheek that had the bruise, which had now swollen down to a red mark, was resting against the frigid glass. Eyes wavered slightly, staring down into the darkness as the moon bathed him in an ominous silver light.

_Creak…_ Damn loose floorboard.

Mark's head whipped around. "Hello? Is somebody there?"

"Sorry," Roger coughed uncomfortably, rushing to his friend before placing two comforting hands on Mark's shoulders. "Sorry Mark."

"Rog?"

"Yeah." Roger nodded, moving to grab a blanket from the couch and quickly wrapping it around the thin man's shoulder. "Shit Mark, you're freezing."

"What're you doing up?" Mark asked. "It's pretty early, isn't it?"

"What are _you_ doing up? It's 5 AM."

"That early, huh?" Mark smirked. "These days I can't tell what time it is. Most of the time you get up at around 8 AM and sometimes Benny or Collins comes up at about 7 AM to cook breakfast."

"Mental clock?" Roger questioned, pushing Mark over slightly so that he could sit across from his friend. "Here," he handed him a bottle of water that was in the cooler near the windowsill, "drink this."

"Thanks." Mark nodded, grabbing the water and cautiously placing the opening to his lips. "Having trouble sleeping?"

"Something like that." Roger smirked, tugging at Mark's shirt. "What about you? I mean, you've got my shirt and you're still cold? Why don't you turn the heater up?'

"I did once, remember?" Mark pointed out, sipping the water again and coughing as the liquid made its way down his dry throat. "You and Mimi woke up all sweaty. I don't mind it too much, really, I've still got your shirt and Collins loaded me up with some extra blankets."

"Yeah, you've got my shirt and thousands of blankets." Roger laughed. "Yet you still wake up in the middle of the night to come out here to freeze."

Mark laughed and shrugged. "Yeah, it's not really the brightest idea."

"So why do it?"

"Can't sleep. It's something to do." Mark sighed, reaching down to place the empty water bottle onto the wooden floorboard. "You had a nightmare, didn't you?"

Roger blinked. "How can you tell?"

"You seem a bit tense." Mark leaned his head back onto the cold glass window. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Mark nodded thoughtfully. "If you need to, I'm here."

"You never told me," Roger sighed. "What're you doing up so early?"

"I'm always up early." Mark shrugged. He looked out the window and watched a shadow-formed figure cross the street and huddle underneath a few objects that he held up, Mark thought they were newspapers, to protect himself from the rain. Another crash of thunder sounded from somewhere off in the distance. "Some storm.'

"Don't change the subject," Roger reprimanded. "Is there something wrong? You're a bit…edgy…"

Mark blushed. "I didn't know who it was, guess I got…I don't know. Nervous?" His eyes glazed over slightly. "Like I said, I'm always up early. Even before all… this. Usually I'm working with my camera, but I can't really do that now, can I?"

"Guess not," Roger whispered. "So, the window is the next best thing?"

_Another thing to detach behind? _Roger wanted to say. _Something else to hide behind? To escape from reality?_

"I guess." Mark answered. "I guess when I lost most of my sight I got lucky."

Roger stared. "Lucky?"

"I lost my sight and I'm a filmmaker," Mark elaborated, sightless eyes moving to look to Roger. "I got lucky. It may not seem like it, but the way I see it, I'm lucky to be able to understand something like this. It's been three weeks and I've learned how to see without my sight. Have you ever just _listened _to a thunderstorm before? It's incredible, Rog. I feel like I'm living this other half of my life, listening to things I should've listened to before." He shrugged and chuckled hollowly. "Didn't even need the damned cane."

"We were just trying to-"

"-help?" Mark cut off. "Yeah, and I appreciate that."

"Just returning the favor." Roger smirked, looking out the window. "It really is a nice night."

"Yeah…"

"Mark?"

"Yeah Rog?"

"Are you sure you're all right with everything?"

Mark turned towards Roger's voice and furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"I- I mean…" Roger trailed off. _Why is this so hard? Why can't I just say it?_ "Listen…"

"Rog, I'm listening. I'm just not sure you are." Mark chuckled lightly. "Are _you_ all right?"

"Stop changing the conversation!"

"Geez…" Mark recoiled slightly, holding his hands in front of him as if in a sort of peace offering. "Sorry, I really didn't mean to."

"You never _mean_ to Mark!" Roger hissed, his voice loud enough to get a point across, but low enough that he was satisfied he wouldn't wake Mimi. "I'm worried about you! I know you care about me and Mimi, but we're not the ones that are having troubles here. You said it yourself, you're a filmmaker! Listen, I understand-"

"I don't think you do."

"You don't want to think about what's happening so you're running away." Mark turned away at Roger's words. "That's it, isn't it? You don't want your emotions to get the better of you, so you're becoming numb-"

"How can you say that?" Mark questioned, eyes glazing over sadly. "Do you want me to hurt because of the possible thought that I might be losing my sight? I know I don't want to. It hurts… I'm trying, Roger. Sometimes it's hard. It's only been _three weeks_ and it's hard."

Roger shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. "Three weeks isn't a long time-"

"You're right, though. It's like I'm running away because I don't want to think about what's happening," Mark said, voice breaking. "That doesn't work for this, though. My mind is blocking everything off and I don't know why."

Roger suggested, "What about the film?"

Mark lowered his head. "What good would it do?"

"Maybe if you listened to the tape than you'd probably remember what happened." Roger shrugged. "It's probably just a knock on the head -nothing too horrible. Besides, maybe if we watched it together than your mind would stop blocking everything and you'd get your sight back." Roger placed a hand on Mark's shoulder and used his other hand to guide Mark's eyes up towards Roger's own green eyes. "You aren't alone in this."

"I know." Mark nodded. "You'd watch it with me? Describe everything for me?"

"Of course," Roger whispered, squeezing his friend's shoulder. "How about it?"

Mark sighed. "Give me one more week?"

The bohemians knew Mark wanted his memory to come back on his own. He hadn't wanted to "look" at the footage from that day because he'd figured his memory would just come back on his own. Mark didn't want to rely on anything.

"Sure." Roger moved himself onto the windowsill and Mark let out a yawn.

Mark grinned; he let his eyes drop so suddenly that Roger nearly jumped to catch him as he fell asleep in Roger's arms. _Sill so damned skinny_, Roger thought with a smile, patting Mark on the back and carrying him over to the couch, too tired to carry him all the way into his room. As Roger placed Mark onto the couch and fell asleep in the lone armchair in the living room he barely noticed Mimi smiling softly from their bedroom door.

"Good night." She whispered into the air.

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

"Roger told me you're having some trouble sleeping at night."

"Not you too Collins." Mark pushed his sunglasses further up his nose. "I told him last night it's nothing to be worried about. There are just these times that I wake up early, it's nothing health-related or anything."

"Step," Collins ordered, squeezing Mark's arm softly. "I'm just saying, that maybe if you took some pills. You're not working or anything, so you don't even have to be waking up so early. Sleep in! It won't kill ya." He pushed open the door to the clinic and led Mark through the various hallways.

Mark shrugged. "It's not that easy. I really wouldn't feel comfortable taking pills."

"Sleeping pills," Collins reassured. "You won't get addicted. Space the use of them out and you'll be golden."

"Golden?" Mark shook his head. "Where have I heard that before? Just forget it Collins. Geez… You really worry too much."

Collins laughed.

"What now?" Mark questioned.

"You realize that Roger says the same thing about you?" Collins pointed out, opening the oak door that would lead to Dr. Crow's office. "Seriously Mark, if you think you saying 'Take your AZT' isn't worrying then there really is something wrong in that head of yours."

Collins sat him in one of the plastic chairs. "You're really being a bastard about this, you know?"

"Proud to do it." Collins grinned. "Any idea why Roger isn't here? I mean, no offence, but he's been attached to you like a ball and chain."

"Yeah." Mark sighed. "Well, Mimi had some problems this morning and he didn't really want to leave her, and at the same time he wanted to come here with me. Took me about two hours to convince him that I'd be fine with you here."

"Really now?"

"Mm-hmm." Mark nodded. "Eventually Benny came over and we double teamed him."

"So, he's finally listening to Benny?"

"Well, after all the shit Benny did for us and the loft…" Mark shrugged. "Roger's just too proud to say anything horrible about him now. Sure, they'll get into it sometimes here and there, but, other than that, it's like before Benny met Allison."

"That good?"

Mark nodded. "Yeah."

"Mark Cohen?" Mark raised his head towards the feminine voice of the secretary. "Doctor Crow will see you now."

"Thanks." Mark nodded. He allowed Collins to lead him toward the door to the office. "See you in an hour?"

"I'll be waiting." Collins smirked. "Early dinner at the Life Café afterwards, on Benny?"

"When is it not on Benny?"

"Good point." Collins patted his shoulder. "Have a good session."

"Right." Mark wandered into the room and stealthily found his way to the leather chair. It was easier now; Mark could almost perfectly picture the entire room from just his point sitting on the black leather chair. It wasn't hard, really.

"Good afternoon Mark." Dr. Crow, cheerful as always. "How has your day been so far?"

"Fine." Short replies seemed worked better.

"Did you pick your camera up today?" She had been trying to get him to get into the normal routine. What was normal for a filmmaker when he doesn't have his sight? "Perhaps tried to shoot some footage?"

"No…" Mark shrugged. "The camera is fragile. I don't want to pick it up just to drop it on the floor."

It was going to be a long session.

"Ah, well, I see you don't want to talk about that. How about something else? Is there anything specific you want to talk about today?" Crap. The scribbling returned so suddenly that Mark nearly jumped. Thank goodness Dr. Crow didn't notice. "Well?"

"Nothing particular comes to mind."_ Why would I tell you anything?_ Mark thought. _Evaluate me all you want. It doesn't prove anything._

"Tell me a little about your family." She continued hurriedly, "Now, I know you don't like to talk about your immediate family, however, I think it would be good to get into some of the details. You only have one more session left…"

"Do I?" Mark questioned. "You determine if something else comes up."

"Well, I could." Dr. Crow scribbled into the folder some more. "Unless you want to talk about it now?"

"Blackmail." Mark scoffed.

Dr. Crow seemed to shrug and Mark could almost see her smile. "I'd call it friendly advice."

"Fine!" Mark leaned down and placed two shaky hands on his knees. "What do you want to know?"

Dr. Crow folded the file closed and patted it on her lap contently. "Sibling. You have an older sister?"

"Cindy," Mark confirmed. "She's six years older than me and still lives in Scarsdale. According to my parents she's the perfect child."

"Does this upset you?" Mark shrugged. "Okay. Do you resent your sister because she is called a "perfect child" by your parents?"

"Of course not. Cindy is the only person in my family that I can actually stand. I won't say her family is perfect but I also can't say that they're horrible, Cindy really did well with her life."

Mark tilted his head, a new habit he picked up to better his hearing, and heard the soft _squish_ of Dr. Crow's seat as she scooted herself closer. Her shadow-form seemed to hover above him.

"What about your mother and father?"

"My mother, she was -geez, how do I say this? She was _protective_. Thoroughly. Always told me I was her little baby and nothing would happen to me because she'd always be there. Heh, what she said when I told her I dropped out of college and moved to New York…" Mark shook his head at the memory. "I couldn't get hold of her until about four months after I dropped out of Brown, there were…phoning complications, I guess. Anyway, after she yelled at me for dropping out, she went back to call me her little baby boy, it didn't matter what age I was at the time. When I tell her how broke I am she just waves everything off saying nothing can happen to her baby boy."

"Where is your mother now?"

"Scarsdale. She'll never leave, she belongs there."

"Okay. How's about your father? Does your dad live with your mom?"

"My father died." Mark coughed, looking up to where Dr. Crow was sure to be sitting. "He died when I was nineteen, just a year after I came to New York."

"I'm sorry."

_Sure… That's truthful._ Mark scoffed, "Thanks."

"What was he like?"

"He was an alcoholic. Not abusive or violent, believe it or not, but he was an alcoholic. Drank all day and night, woke up with a hangover and used his beer to drown all the pain. After all his years, I don't think he even knew what a hangover was." Mark chuckled, his laughter not making his eyes. "When he got drunk it was the exact opposite of what you'd expect-"

Dr. Crow cut through his words. "I would expect abusive and violent, as you said. What was it?"

"_De__pressed_… That'd be one word for it." Mark nodded. "My father sure was a screw up, though. He had an abusive childhood, my mother told me that, and because of his own father he didn't want to turn up like that with me. He didn't want to turn on me. He still drank though, but nothing ever happened."

"You weren't abused?"

"No." Mark shook his head. "In that sort of…cuddly environment, I'm surprised if anybody in that house got abused."

"Did you get along with your father?" She spoke softly, calmly, almost as if she was urging him on. Mark hated it. "Was it a hate-hate relationship?"

"It's not something to get in to. Our relationship was the same thing I have with strangers. There was nothing there." Mark shrugged. "He even told me that doing nothing was just as worse as being abusive. In a way, I guess he's right." He shook his head, trying to move onto the next subject. "Cindy is the only one who I keep in contact with, and that's just exchanging letters. She understands what I'm doing here in New York. Doesn't question it-"

"And what are you doing in New York?"

Mark paused for a moment. "In New York…"

"Yes?"

"I'm making a difference."


	7. Blink

**Chapter Seven: Blink**

"You were _where_?"

Mark sat at his perch in the windowsill, knees drawn loosely to his body as he leaned his temple to the frigid glass before him. The sunglasses he usually donned were thrown to the side carelessly, a black heap on the couch. He had one hand hanging limply over his knees while the other brushed at his side where his camera sat, leaning. There was no particular reason for the camera to be there, just the presence of the object put a sense of comfort to everything and made things feel more normal.

Sitting across from Mark was Roger, the musician plastering on a large, sloppy grin on his face. He let his grin widen slightly as a hand ran through his brown hair, pushing his long bangs away from his eyes so he could get a better look at his best friend. Roger sat cross-legged in the windowsill with his guitar leaning against the seat next to him and a bowl of red Gummy Bears in his lap. "Haven't had these since I was twelve!" Roger exclaimed, tossing one in his mouth before swallowing and saying, "You want a red Gummy Bear?"

"Don't change the subject!" Mark half laughed half sputtered, waving the red candy away.

Grinning again, Roger stuffed ten more into his mouth and sucked his fingers childishly. "Collins brought em' over last night. He kept telling us not to keep eating Cap'n Crunch so he brings us candy! Do you believe that?" Roger laughed at Mark's blank expression. "You know, not that I'm complaining- About two nights ago, when Benny came up to order us some takeout, he brought ice cream from the store. Did I tell you? There's some vanilla and chocolate flavored in there; I know you hate strawberry, but Mimi loves the stuff."

"Yeah- but…I don-"

_This is good,_ Roger thought to himself, laughing internally. He took the bowl out of his lap and placed it in front of him before pushing it along the cushion of the seat towards Mark's drawn up legs. "Try one!"

"Stop acting like a child!" Mark leaned forward and swatted the air in front of him, smiling as he successfully whacked Roger in the arm. He, very carefully, dropped his hand into the glass bowl beneath him and pulled out one of the bears as he said, "Here. Are you happy now?" before chewing the candy. "Geez, what's up with you today?"

"Good, huh?" Roger grinned, ignoring the question as he bobbed his head up and down while he stuffed more of the candies into his mouth. "You know, I was walking through the city last night after my interview and I was thinking about some food -weird, I know- and so I went to this candy store and I was looking at the Gummy Bears and I found out they made Gummy _Worms_! Now, I didn't have any money, so I couldn't by them, but I saw that they were _multicolored_! I think that means multi flavored too! Cool, huh?"

Without skipping a beat, Mark questioned, "Are you drunk?"

"What?" Roger recoiled slightly at the blunt statement, but was soon placing his hands on his knees, leaning forward to ruffle Mark's hair. "Oh! I get it! You're still in shock. That's okay. I think Collins and Benny are too."

Mark swatted the hand away from his head, this time not succeeding in hitting his best friend. He tilted his head so that his dominant ear was towards Roger's voice. "Wait, let me hear this correctly. Roger Davis signed up for an actual _job_?"

"Roger Davis _got_ the job!" Roger laughed, leaning into the wall behind him as he held his side and laughed good-naturedly.

"Touché!" Mark shot back, laughing slightly. "Come on, seriously, what's with the turn?"

"I didn't turn! I've been going straight!" Roger laughed again. He hopped off the windowsill and poured the rest of the Gummy Bears into his mouth as he walked towards the kitchen and quickly placed the glass bowl into the sink. "C'mon ish been a'long time shinsh I shad an s'job."

"You _are_ drunk! Jeez, it's only one o'clock in the afternoon! What in hell is up with you?"

Roger hopped back down in his seat and placed his hands back on his knees, looking as if he was a frog about to jump up. "I'm not drunk! Man, this is a natural high!"

Mark scratched his cheek idly. "Because you're working?"

Roger grinned. Last night, after Mark's third therapy session, Mark had gone to the Life Café with Benny and Collins to wait for Roger so they could have an early dinner together. However, Roger never made it there and when they went to the loft to see what had happened Mimi was there waiting for the three men. She explained: "_He went out to look for a job. Not sure what it'll be, but that's what he told me to tell you._"

"What's wrong with me working?" Roger questioned happily. "You and Collins have been nagging me for _years_ to get off my ass and do something; so I did!"

"I just- geez, what can I say?" Mark rubbed his temple. "_You_ got a _job_? That's- Ooff! Sorry!"

"That's what you get." Roger smirked as he grabbed at the pillow he hit Mark on the head with. "Stop acting so shocked!"

"It's just hard to imagine," Mark explained, smiling. He pulled his legs closer to his chest and set his chin on his knees. "Mimi's okay with it?"

"Basically pushed me out the door when I was about to change my mind. I didn't want to leave her because of the withdrawal," Roger explained, "but she told me the worst of it was basically over. I believe her. It wasn't _horrible_ this morning, she was just emotional. She asked me if she could get out of the loft and I told her it wasn't a good idea going out alone-"

"You had a fight?" Mark confirmed with a nod. "Still, it's been about four months Rog; she's still going to need you."

Sighing, Roger pulled his guitar into his lap and strummed a few meaningless chords. "It's been more than four months, man. After I left for Santa Fe, she was on drugs for about two weeks before she ran out of money and went through withdrawal alone on the streets -not pleasant."

"It's still-"

"I spoke to her about it this morning, and she's more than fine with it. _Thrilled_ even. She doesn't just need me, she needs everybody. Collins is here tutoring some students at the college, Benny is still working on that studio space, and Joanne and Maureen are here. They'll all help. We had this argument; do I need to have it with you too?"

"No," Mark heaved a long sigh. "I'm just a bit confused. Why look for a job now?"

"Please, man, I'd call you lucky that I'm actually working. It's not a horrible job like, I don't know…stripping for a gay club!"

"Wouldn't be surprised- Ooff! Hey!"

Roger smirked. "You deserved that one." He picked up the pillow and said, "Damn, your brain must've been knocked out of you head."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't remember, would I?"

_Shit. Nice job Davis! Whatever happened to thinking?_

Avoiding eye contact, focusing mainly on his guitar, Roger said, "It's not a gay club. I'm going to be playing music at this new bar downtown. The Lounge."

"The _Lounge_?"

"It's something!" Roger argued. "It's new and I'll be getting fairly good wages. I'm thinking of getting a new band together soon, but for now I'm just going to do this solo."

"No offence, but, are they desperate or something?" Mark sighed. "They're just taking a solo artist right off the bat and they're going to pay with _fairly good_ wages?"

Roger felt the heat rise to his cheeks as he avoided the question. "It'll be real nice. An hour of singing and an hour of helping with the sound equipment, but on occasional nights I'll need to stay to close up. That's probably going to start once they know they can trust me. I'll be starting in five days, April 25th."

"How'd you get the job?"

"I don't know what my schedule will be-"

"Rog?" Roger watched as Mark's hand blindly reached out and grasped his wrist, stopping him for his mindless strumming. "Is how you got the job _that_ bad?"

"All right…all right… If you must know, _Maureen _helped me get it." Roger yanked his wrist back and frowned as Mark stifled a laugh. "What! It's a job, isn't it? I ran into Maureen as she was coming back from visiting Joanne at the office, and she decided to tag along. I couldn't get rid of her! We walked into The Lounge and this guy wouldn't give me a chance to audition-"

"I think I got it." Mark laughed. "Maureen _helped_ you get the job."

"I swear the guy was drunk! It was just a kiss…" Roger dropped his head into his hands. "Tell Joanne and I'm dead."

Mark snickered, "Tell Joanne and she won't believe it was to help you. Didn't those two break up last week?"

"They're together again."

"Happy about that, huh?"

The two women were the definition of on-again-off-again relationships. Since Christmas, during Mimi's near death experience, Maureen had toned it down, but, as Mark had said during New Year's Eve, _"You can take the girl outta Hicksville, but you can't take the Hicksville outta the girl_." They had their patters and their "fair share" of breakups, but, still, the relationship stood.

Roger shrugged, watching Mark carefully. "Why not? Maureen's been hanging around here every night. Sure, she and Mimi have been having a grand time…"

"She's loud?" Mark nodded. "Yeah, I know, the walls are paper thin."

Roger, happy for a fraction of a second that Mark couldn't see, blushed as he thought of what else Mark had heard through the thin walls. He shook the thought of his head and said, "It's not like I hate Maureen; she's just…dramatic."

"At least she lets you and Mimi spend some time alone, when I'm with her she's practicing her protest speeches." Mark tilted his head toward Roger. "She's thinking about working on an environmental protest. Something about too many factories and waste management not doing their job… I'm not entirely sure myself."

Roger nodded. "Yeah, she told me about this costume she was fixing up. She'll be the globe. I can't imagine-"

"I think I can. She described it to me pretty well."

_Shit,_ Roger stopped short, _why can't I remember he can't see?_

"Something wrong?"

_Okay, Davis, let's try this again._

_Shoots-_

"No. It's nothing." Roger sighed… "Mimi, Joanne, and Maureen are having a girl's day so I'm basically free. What's on your agenda?"

_And-_

"Well normally I would be outside filming-"

_Misses by a mile!_

"-but since I can't, I'm as free as a bird."

_Okay… Repair._

"How about you and I hang out? We haven't really been out of the loft together since November."

"I guess other things have been going one." Mark said.

_Okay, missed again. _

_Throw me a friggin'' bone!_

Roger sighed. "How about it?"

"I dunno…There isn't much I can do because of this." Mark frowned as he gestured to his eyes.

"We can think of something else, if you want. Aren't you itching to get out of the loft?"

"I guess…"

"Besides, Mimi and the girls are going to drop by here soon. They left a message on the answering machine when you were in the shower." Roger grinned. "Why didn't you let me help you?"

"Thanks, but I'm trying to save as much dignity as I can. It wasn't too bad."

Roger smirked as he watched the heat rise to Mark's cheek as the filmmaker turned his head. There was nothing sexual about Mark's feelings toward Roger, but that didn't mean he was all right with the fact that he needed help bathing. Understandably, Roger let Mark try to get back to the normal routine without his help; he understood that the whole aspect was humiliating to Mark.

Running a hand through his hair as he leaned his fender guitar against the seat and hopped off the windowsill seat. "Want me to play the message?" Roger's finger hovered above the black button of the answering machine.

"Why not?" Mark shrugged, picking himself off the windowsill to head towards the brown couch.

_Beep._

"_Hey Rog!_" Mimi's voice shouted through the message as Maureen shouted her own ecstatic _"hello!" _and Joanne placed in a polite _"hi"_ before returning back to Mimi's voice. "_We're eating some lunch at the Life Café and then we'll be stopping by. We've got this surprise, a gift for Mark. I'll admit, at first I was a little hesitant, but, it's so cute! Tell Mark not to worry, he'll love it! Love you, bye!_"

_Beep. End of messages._

"Another surprise?" Mark shifted slightly as Roger plopped down onto the cushion next to him. "It's not my birthday; they know that."

Roger rolled his eyes, ruffling Mark's hair. "They love you. Deal with it. Besides, was the last surprise to horrible?"

"No." Mark sighed, thinking of the heated loft. "It was more of Benny's gift though; the girls helped clean up."

"Would you stop being so modest?" Roger laughed. "Just take the gift and stuff it in you room. Whatever."

Mark laughed.

"Knock! Knock!" Maureen's screech blasted through the air. "Anybody home?"

"Where else would they be?" Mimi's voice questioned from behind the door. "We called to tell them we were going to stop by with Mark's gift-"

"The _best_ gift!" Maureen confirmed loudly.

"_Maureen_!" Joanne reprimanded. "Calm down!"

"Sorry Pookie."

"Roger!" Mimi's voice again, along with repeated knocks. "I forgot my key, love. Can you open the door?"

Usually the loft door would _never_ be locked, but with the arrival of Benny he had confronted them about the high statistics of burglaries and murders in their neighborhood, most of which had to do with careless tenants keeping their doors and windows unlocked. Everybody was skeptical. They'd lived in the loft for close to seven years and nobody had ever broken in -with the exception of Benny himself. Only Collins took the bait.

"_He's got a point."_ The anarchist had said. _"Besides, what's the harm in it?"_

True. There was no harm. Only good.

"_What the hell?"_ Roger approved before jumping off the couch and locking the loft door. _"No harm. No foul."_

"Roger! Marky!" Maureen screeched again, "You're going to _love_ this!"

Roger sighed, whispering to Mark, "See what I mean? Dramatic."

"Just open the door." Mark laughed, shoving Roger off the couch.

"Touché!" Roger mocked, hopping off the couch with a smile on his face as Mark's laughter drifted after him. It was nice to hear Mark laugh again. "Keep your pants on Maureen!" he shouted.

Maureen giggled something- "Ow! Sorry Pookie."

Roger unlocked the door and slid it open to find the three women. Joanne, dark-skinned lawyer dressed in her usual suit, had her arms folded across her chest looking anywhere but Maureen. Maureen, clad in tight black jeans and a leopard skinned top, in turn, held a petite hand on Joanne's elbow mumbling something about forgiveness and pity. Mimi, eyes glowing brightly with her arms behind her back, looked up to Roger with the most innocent face she could ever muster as she bounced up and down on her toes. She wore a causal pair of dark, blue jeans and a white blouse.

"Ahem." Mimi cleared her throat, elbowing Maureen as she did so.

"Oh! Sorry." Maureen turned her attention towards Roger and grinned up at him. "Are you going to let us in?"

Roger looked over his shoulders and found an amused expression lining Mark's face as his lips curved in an upwards arch. He turned his attention back to the three women on his doorstep and questioned, "What's the surprise?"

Mimi simply rolled her eyes before pushing past her boyfriend and heading into the loft. "You'll see!"

"Wait…" Roger eyed the burden Mimi carried with a suspicious eye. "You didn't…"

"Didn't what?" Mark questioned, cringing as Maureen fawned over him and Joanne yelled at Maureen.

"Maureen! Leave the boy alone!" Joanne scolded. She made her way toward Mark and placed a kiss on the top of his head, very motherly. "How are you feeling today Mark?"

"I'm fine." Mark replied, used to Joanne's mother hen ways. "So? What's the surprise?"

"Anxious?" Maureen questioned. "Well, you are going to _love_ it!"

"So you've said…" Roger said, kneeling down to get a better look at the surprise. "How the hell did you afford this?"

"It wasn't expensive," Joanne stated. "The three of us chipped in."

"What is it?" Mark questioned, suddenly forgetting the modesty of getting a present. "Are you going to tell me or keep it a secret?"

Mimi bounded forward and grabbed Mark's wrist carefully. "Come here," she let him towards the gray _box_ and cautiously made him kneel down on the black carpet. "Stay here. It really is a nice gift, Mark."

"What the hell?" Mark recoiled back slightly. "What is that _smell_?"

"Seems like your gift had an accident." Roger laughed as Mimi reached over to swap his arm. "Geez… this thing is going to make such a mess."

"Hello! Is anybody going to answer my question?" Mark shifted into an Indian-style position on the floor.

Mimi grinned as she opened the _box_ and reached out to grab the gift. Squealing slightly, ignoring the look Roger gave her, Mimi reached over and promptly plopped the gift into Mark's lap. "What do you think?"

"A dog?" Mark asked incredulously.

_Ruff! Ruff! _The bundle of joy in Mark's arms yipped excitedly.

The soft fur was a dead giveaway. Mark had never had a dog before but he knew it couldn't be a cat, cat's had pointy ears and a different tail. This dog, Mark felt, was very bouncy and carefree. A tongue suddenly slipping over his face in sloppy, wet kiss as a very distinct nose nudged his cheek.

"Bingo!" Maureen chuckled at her own joke.

Roger fell from his knees and onto his butt as he scooted closer to the dog. "Please tell me you did not name the dog Bingo."

"Of course not," Joanne said. "Maureen wanted to at first but we decided that since its Mark's dog Mark should name him."

Mark laughed as the dog's paws dug into his chest and a muzzle nudged his cheeks with licks. "It's really all of our dogs. We can name him whatever you want. I am assuming it is a male?"

"Why don't you check?" Roger laughed, another whack from Mimi landing on his arm. He turned to her and frowned as he said, "You know you're stronger than you look."

Mimi stuck her tongue at him. "It's rightfully your dog Mark, you name him. Besides, he seems to have already taken to you."

Maureen patted the dog's head. "He was afraid of us when we saw him in the pound; it took a while for him to open up to us."

"Does anybody think "him" sounds like a great name? I mean- Ow! Okay. Okay." Roger scooted back slightly as Mimi raised her hand to whack him again. "Name the damn dog Mark before I get a bruise."

"Can you at least describe him to me?" Mark requested.

Joanne started, "A mixed breed. One large black spot on his back and another half-way on his tail. Smooth brown fur, not the kind that sheds, but soft nonetheless -as you can tell from the feel." She patted the dog's head and fingered his ears. "Large floppy ears, they go down to his cheeks."

Mimi picked up from there. "Large brown eyes, a deeper brown shade than mine. The usual wet, black nose-"

"He's so adorable!" Maureen cut in. "He comes up to your ankle- maybe a bit more. He's not too small but he's not too large either. We got him a blue collar and Joanne bought some tags to show where he lives if he gets out. We'll get another tag with his name on tomorrow!"

The dog yipped happily as Roger scratched the dog's stomach. "Well? What do you think?"

Roger watched Mark pause, scratching the dog's floppy ears thoughtfully. He only guessed that Mark was trying to imagine the brown eyes. The feel of the brown fur was anything but fluffy, more like smooth silk. Grinning, Roger smiled as Mark brought the dog closer to inspect him through his sightless eyes, a smile working its way up Mark's face as the dog licked his nose.

Mark grinned. "Blink. His name can be Blink."

"Blink," Maureen announced, giggling as the dog whipped his head towards her. "Oh, Marky, he knows his name!"

Mimi pecked Roger on the cheek before standing up, the other two women following her lead. "We'd better leave, there are still a lot of things we were planning to do. Can we leave Blink with the two of you?"

"It's a dog, not a baby." Roger rolled his eyes as he climbed off of the floor and cautiously grabbed Mark's arms to help him into a standing position, Blink still in his arms licking his face excitedly.

Joanne glared as she shoved a blue leash into Roger's hand. "Treat it as the same concept. This is a puppy, there may be a difference but there is still a similarity, be careful."

"It's no problem," Mark reassured the dark-skinned woman. "Roger had a dog. Right Rog? Skippy?"

"Ah, the hellhound Chihuahua," Roger confirmed and off Mimi's odd look he added, "He was _frisky_."

Maureen giggled. "I remember that story! You said something about Skippy and a Poodle!"

"Don't," Joanne stated sternly as she grabbed Maureen's wrist and dragged the woman out of the loft. "See you guys later! Take care of Blink!"

"See ya later." Mimi gave Mark a small hug and patted Blink on the head before moving on to trap Roger in an affectionate kiss. "You be good, love."

"Always." Roger whispered against her lips before letting her go.

"Thanks Mimi." Mark smiled as he shifted the dog in his arms.

"It's no problem." Mimi smiled softly, squeezing Mark's hand in her own. She pecked him on the cheek and gave Roger one last hug. "Well, I guess I better get going. We'll have take out for dinner, okay? Chinese, my treat."

The two men nodded and the girls were gone.

"So?" Mark sighed as he ruffled Blink's ears. "What do we do now?"

"Same thing we were going to. Go out."

"What about Blink? We can't leave him here alone."

"Geez, Mark, why the hell would we do that? It's a _dog_. We'll take him with us. Here, give em' to me for a second…" Roger clutched the leash in his hand as he walked up to the brown bundle in Mark's hands, reaching his hands to grab the dog-

_Grrrr…_ Blink bared his white teeth, fully developed and very sharp. _Ruff! Ruff!_

Roger snapped back, Blink's bared teeth just inches away from his fingers. "Shit! That dog's got somethin' against me."

Mark laughed. He shifted Blink in his arms, smiling as the dog licked his cheek. "Give me the leash."

"Whatever." Roger rolled his eyes. "Just don't drop him. Mimi'd kill me if we killed that dog already."

Mark sighed; trying to keep his grip on the dog in his arm as he skillfully unraveled the leash and used his fingers to open up the head of it. Mark patted Blink's head before carefully slinking the leash over the dog's head. He pulled it securely and dropped the handle-half of the leash. "That good?" Mark tilted his head to where he thought Roger stood.

Roger simply stared.

"Rog? Hey, did I get it on right?" Mark furrowed his eyebrows in a confused manner. He held out the leash and placed Blink on the loft floor. "Rog? Can you hold this for a second; I need to get my coat and glasses."

Roger took the leash numbly, still staring stupidly at the place where Mark was standing. He watched Mark leave the room and chuckled slightly as Blink scrambled across the wooden floor to where Mark had disappeared to. Paws clicking on the wood, Blink promptly yipped and fell. Shaking his head, Roger questioned, "Damn, how'd you do that?"

"Do what?" Mark called from his bedroom, grabbing his jacket. No longer did he have the blood-stained corduroy jacket, his new one was a slick black one with brown stripes down the arms. "You mean the leash thing?" He turned the collar down and felt his way towards the arm of the couch where his sunglasses lay. "I don't know."

"How do you not know?"

Mark chuckled. "I dunno. I work with my hands. There are so many different buttons on my camera that I've gotten used to the fact that I don't need to look down to see everything that's there. I just know. The leash thing is sort of the same way; I use my sense of touch and feel what's going on around me. Stupid, huh?"

"No. I understand." Roger nodded, handing the leash back to Mark so he could get his leather jacket on.

"Really? You don't think it's crazy?"

"You're a lot of things Mark, but crazy is definitely not one of em'. Trust me on this." Roger shrugged, besides the more he thought about it the more he realized he was the same way with his guitar. The exact same way. He sighed, "Damn, why does it have to be so cold?"

Blink jumped onto Mark's legs and Mark bent down to pick the yapping puppy up. "It's always cold in New York. Get used to it."

"Whatever. I've got your camera, let's go." Roger scoffed, he moved to open the door and ushered Mark out. "You know, I think Blink is in love."

Mark glared from behind his sunglasses and let out a mumbled curse as Roger ruffled his hair again. They walked outside together, Roger keeping a safe arm on Mark's shoulder as Mark held Blink close to his chest so the puppy wouldn't get away.

_Ruff!!_ Blink barked. _Ruff!! Ruff!!_

Roger cast a suspicious glance around their surroundings and found a suspicious man eyeing them carefully. Involuntarily, he squeezed the hold on Mark's camera and Mark's shoulder before picking up the pace. "Come on."

"Something wrong?"

"No. Nothing."

Roger looked over his shoulder to make sure the man was gone. Any other day, if Mark wasn't there, Roger probably would've stuck around to see what the man's deal was, but that wasn't the case. Mark was there, he _was_ visually impaired, and Roger knew he couldn't make sure Mark was kept safe if the man had other friends somewhere. He knew he had to do what was best for both of them, Roger _knew _after all those years of Mark taking care of him it was now his turn to take care of Mark. There were no chances to take right now-

_Ruff!!_

Blink's bark made Roger snap his head up and freeze in his tracks. They almost ran right into oncoming traffic.

_Way to go Davis._ Roger thought to himself. _You talk about wanting to help Mark and then you nearly get him killed. Yourself included._

"Rog? You okay?" Mark's meek voice echoed through his ear.

"Sorry." Roger hung his head, stopping as a car zoomed across the street in front of them. "I guess I kind of zoned out again."

"You okay?" Mark repeated.

Roger gave Mark a reassuring smile before letting it fall flat. He kept forgetting Mark couldn't see anything. "Yeah. It's nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Roger said more confidently this time, patting Blink's head in silent thanks. "Let's get going."

Mark seemed content with this answer and let it go.

Roger sighed, "So…why Blink? I mean, you told us to describe the dog to us and you choose Blink?"

"Out of the limb, I guess." Mark shrugged. "Usually you've got the dogs that are named after what they look like: Fluffy if he's soft, Spot if he's got spots, and so on and so forth. Than there's the names of the dogs on how they act: Skippy, like your dog, because he was carefree, Speedy if he's fast, and others like that. Of course there are also the people that name their dogs after people or objects they resemble-"

"So Blink is for what?" Roger questioned, sidestepping a crack in the street and dodging two slow cars. "Something a dog does?"

"Not just dogs. Everybody," Mark confirmed, shifting Blink and pushing his sunglasses further up his nose. "Everybody blinks. It's such a simple function, the opening and closing of the eyelid… I don't know. I just thought that maybe I'd make some light out of… _eyes._" Mark paused. "Crazy?"

"Complicated," Roger said. "You're thinking too much."

"As opposed to…?"

"Shut up."

Mark laughed. "So, where are we going?"

"Going?" Roger smiled and held his arms out wide. "We're here!"

Mark sniffed the air. "Foul stench, gloomy air… Only one place I know that feels like that."

Tompkins Square Park. Once upon a time, Maureen's protests were mainly held in this area until a particularly bad night got ten people arrested and one man dead after he was trampled to death. -from then on protests were held in the space. Many homeless people camped on and under the benches of the park, scattered around keeping family-friendly people far away. This was even where Mimi was found.

"Why here?" Mark questioned, stepping over the curb and onto the uneven grass.

Roger smiled. "They're closing the park, did you hear? I heard they're thinking of relocating all the homeless people and everything is going to be reconstructed and reopened sometime next year. I thought we could spend one last time here, the way it used to be."

"Sensitive Roger? I'm impressed."

Roger laughed as he kicked an empty beer bottle away from Mark's path. "Whatever. I'm glad they're fixing this hellhole up. It's unsafe."

"When have you ever cared about that before?"

Roger shrugged uselessly, kicking another bottle. "This place has too many memories, ya know? Mimi was living here, we used to come here all the time to walk around, I took April here, and… I don't know- I just-"

"You wanted to say goodbye?" Mark filled in with a nod. "I understand. I've got a lot of memories here too." He kneeled down slowly and carefully placed Blink onto the grass, patting the dog on the head before letting him go run around the park. He gripped the leash tightly in his hand as he followed Blink.

Roger walked in step with Mark as he kept a careful eye on Blink. "What memories do you have?"

"I filmed here everyday, this was where I first met Maureen and April, and… Roger, didn't I tell you?" Mark hung his head. "I did tell you, right?"

"What? Did something happen here? I mean, I know you got mugged a tons of times but…" Roger's eyes widened. "Mark, you didn't get _hurt _here, did you?" He hoped to any forces in the world that he wouldn't have to elaborate on _how hurt_ he meant.

"No!" Mark said a bit too quickly for Roger's liking. "No, it's not like that!"

Roger cocked a brow. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Like Mimi, I lived here." Mark cleared his throat uncomfortably, pulling Blink's leash.

Placing his hands on Mark's shoulders, Roger stopped the blond man suddenly. Mark turned, zoning in on Blink's bark and not Roger's voice as his friend questioned, "You never told me this after the seven years I've known you? That night I talked to you, in jail, you said you were living with Benny…"

"I didn't know Benny was living here." Mark defended himself. "When I came here I didn't know anybody."

"How long?"

"Did I live here?" Mark scratched his cheek. "Maybe… A month… It wasn't that big a deal."

"A month!" Roger yelled, ignoring the yapping barks of Blink. "Jeezus, man…"

Roger surveyed the area. Tompkins Square Park was like a third home to the bohemians -the second being Life Café and the first, obviously, being the loft- and, although Roger held the park close to his heart, he couldn't even _imagine_ living at Tompkins. Why the city never fixed it up sooner Roger would never know. Beer bottles, soda cans, empty cigarette packs and crumpled up papers flying everywhere -it was anything but a haven. Homeless people lined the sidewalks and drug dealers roamed the corners as children ran right by them as if they were nothing. So many murderers, druggies, poor people…

Nobody could live there.

"It really wasn't horrible," Mark stammered, fumbling over his feet as he walked through a particularly grassy area. "I had my camera and it didn't rain. It was more horrible for everybody else; I was lucky enough to run into Benny."

Roger squeezed Mark's arm, a silent gesture signaling the man to stop. Wiping a hand through his hair, Roger looked to Mark and frowned. "Just because you were lucky enough to find Benny doesn't mean it should've happened."

"I can survive out here for a few measly months. All it took was food and shelter to get me back on my feet. There are others who stay here for years, without food, they've got it worse off." Mark said, the seriousness in his voice and unbeatable expression lacing his frown making Mark's words seem _real_. "Besides, that's how I got the idea for my first documentary before combining it with AIDS."

"I thought _Proof Positive_ was about us."

"It is. New York life with AIDS and the homeless, it's all part of our lifestyle. I guess it just depends how you look at it."

"Well you look into it too much." Roger laughed.

"Yeah…"

Roger seemed to notice his discomfort and frowned. "Come on," he announced, trying to change the sudden bad mood as he grabbed Mark's arm and dragged the blond towards a clearing in the park. "We can go over here!"

Mark rolled his sunglasses upwards as he tried to keep up with Roger, yet still keep a tight hold on Blink. "And what, pray tell, are we going to do?"

"Anything but reminisce. We've been having too many heart-to-hearts these past weeks." Roger ginned as he watched Mark laugh. "How about that? It's working already."

They ended up staying at the park for three hours doing anything they could think of: talking, walking, and filming. Blink had turned out to be a terrific companion that they could play catch with and be amused by his puppy antics. Roger was still having difficulty with the notion that his friend was blind and couldn't do what they would normally do. Still, whenever Roger looked to Mark it seemed that the blond had no problems with just hanging out in the park. It was as if nothing was wrong. He never even asked Roger for the camera, just told Roger "…hold it steady, straight, and make sure the image isn't blurry."

_He's got no problems with his visual loss,_ Roger thought, holding the camera out in front of his eye as he watched Mark and Blink. _Why do I have a problem with this?_

"Rog?"

Mark's concerned voice echoed through his ears causing Roger to snap up with an intellectual, "Hmm?"

More concern laced his voice. "Are you all right? You're zoning out again. Are you going to tell me what's on your mind or not?"

"Nah." Roger laughed. "I think I'll keep ya guessing."

"S' not funny, you know?"

"Sorry." Roger sighed, letting the camera down as he walked towards his friend. "I guess everything from the past few weeks are finally catching up to me."

"Wanna talk about it? It might help."

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"Maybe." Mark shrugged. "So, what's up?"

"It's just…" Roger shook his head, before adding, "Are you sure about this video deal?"

"What do you mean?"

"Dr. Cork said that your mind is fragile. Anything could happen and I just… I just don't want to see you come out of this worse than you already are." Roger looked to the New York sky. "I mean… _visually_."

_Everybody knows your handling this well. _

_Too well…_

Mark patted Blink's head thoughtfully. "I think it's a risk to take, don't you? My vision, it's either going to get better or it's going to get worse -there's no telling until I find out if it's really about my mind. Nothings wrong physically, it has to be mentally." Mark hung his head, freely letting Blink lick his face. "I'm hopeless."

"You said next week is when we watch the video. You've still got time to remember." Roger closed the distance and squeezed Mark's shoulders confidently. "You are _never_ hopeless. You're stronger than you look Mark. Don't forget that."

"Another heart-to-heart?" Mark chuckled, climbing to his feet with Roger's aide.

Roger smirked. "I'm full of em'."

Mark laughed. "You're full of something. Hot air?"

Roger smacked Mark upside the head. "Let's get out of here, it's about to rain. Dark clouds."

"Murky air," Mark confirmed. "Guess this'll be the last time we're at Tompkins until next year."

"Yeah." Roger brought the camera up to his eye and cranked the handle. "April 21st, 5:00 PM, Eastern Standard Time. Roger Davis and Mark Cohen say their goodbyes to Tompkins Square Park. A place full of memories that could never be forgotten or replaced…" He brought the camera down again and turned it off. "Too cheesy?"

Mark smiled slightly as he picked up Blink and carried the exhausted dog back towards the loft. "Not horrible."

"Not good either. I'll stick to the guitar."

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

"Are you really _that_ worried about him?" Mimi questioned, squeezing Roger closer to her as she tugged the blankets tighter around their bodies. "He seems be taking everything well, considering. Are you sure you aren't thinking too much into it?"

"You've known Mark for two years, Mimi." Roger said, letting out a deep breath. "I've known Mark for _seven years_. He always gets like this when something happens that he can't deal with. It happened when his father died…"

"I thought they weren't that close."

"They weren't, but Mark's father died just one year after Mark came to New York. He said nothing was wrong, went on as if nothing happened and didn't talk to anybody for three months. Those same three months he cried himself to sleep." Roger frowned and shook his head. "I didn't know him well enough to say anything about it, so I left him alone."

"You couldn't have known."

"He's not fine Mimi." Roger turned and brushed his finger down Mimi's cheek. "He's never fine. He blames himself."

"For what?"

"Not remembering."

Mimi frowned. "That's not his fault."

"It doesn't matter."

"He doesn't talk about it."

"That's the thing. Mark doesn't talk about his feelings."

"Sure he does!" Mimi cut in suddenly. "We talked the night after he got back from the clinic."

Roger moved his finger over his lips in unspoken silence. "You talked about his feelings or you talked about your own?"

"Well…it started out with him for a while. It didn't go anywhere." Mimi averted her eyes suddenly. "I see what you mean."

"He's subtle about it." Roger nodded. "It takes a while for Mark to open up, sometimes willingly, but, most of the time, it's unexpected. Today in the park was an exception, he worked things out without having to say much yet…things were still said." Roger furrowed his eyebrows. "Does that make sense?"

"Of course." Mimi smiled. "It's so cute too. You're like brothers, you and Mark. An unspoken language that passes between you two."

"_Seven years_," Roger emphasized. "It's hard not to get close after that long of a time." He shook his head. "How was _your_ day?"

Mimi grinned. "Can't tell you."

"What?"

"Think of it as a Girl's Night Out Code. Nobody's business what anybody does." Mimi turned so her back was facing Roger. "Nothing happened. We had a good time hanging out together."

"Is that so?" Roger ran his hand up and down Mimi's arm. "Are you still having a good night?"

"Hmmm?" Mimi looked up and was suddenly locked in a kiss with Roger. She smiled against his lips before pulling away and placing a finger against his shoulder, "You should know love, I've been out all day and I'm _dead_ tired." Mimi laughed at his frown. "If that wasn't so pathetic it'd be cute!"

"Fine." Roger flopped down on his back. "Good night Meems."

"Good night love." Mimi sighed. _Sleep at last…_

Suddenly-

"Mimi?"

"Yes Roger?" She mumbled into her pillow, not really paying attention.

"Why'd you three decide to get Mark a dog?"

Internally, Mimi rolled her eyes. _Mark again?_ "He needs a companion. He may not open to us but he can open up to a dog -somebody who won't say anything back and won't judge him for what he says. A dog will love you for you, caring and loving."

"Oh…"

"Something wrong?"

"No… I guess."

Mimi turned around and found Roger staring up at the ceiling with the one of the most serious expressions lacing his green eyes. She turned back over to face him and placed a petite hand across his shoulder comfortingly. "Roger?"

Roger turned to look at her, a sudden loving, yet blank, expression on his face. "It was a good thing to do."

_He is worried about Mark. There's nothing wrong though, _Mimi thought as she just nodded to Roger's statement. He still looked too serious. _Is there…?_

"I love you." Roger whispered, stroking her cheek with his finger.

Mimi whispered back, "What's on your mind?"

"Everything…"


	8. Edgy

**Chapter Eight: Edgy**

April 24th, 3:00 PM, Eastern Standard Time

"Mark! _Mark!_"

Hands shook him, a loud voice burst through his ear, and all Mark could do was scream through the nightmarish vision. He began punching, kicking, and practically thrashing as multiple hands branched out to grab his flailing limbs, holding him down. Mark struggled, eyes screwed shut, unable to fight off the strong hands as he attempt to wring free from the tight grip that seemed to bruise his skin. The booming voice shouted through his ear and, still, he could not wake from the reality of his nightmare.

"Mark! Mark, _wake up_!"

He panted and heaved as two hands held down his head, rough texture brushing against his cheeks as they held him forward. Mark had no choice; he opened his eyes, and looked towards the shadowed form in front of his face. Blinking rapidly, Mark struggled to keep the tears away from his eyes. The voice was still talking to him, but Mark couldn't make it out. Various sounds crashed through his head, it felt like one giant migraine.

"_It wasn't meant to be like this, ya know? I promised myself that I wouldn't end up like him when I grew up, but, for some reason, I think I did a worse job by not doing anything all your life." _The crash of a bottle, voice drunken and slurred.

Another with the sound of rain dripping onto the pavement. _"Just forget him. Davis will kill us if he figures out we did this. I mean…if he ever finds out. This little shit won't say anything. Will you?"_ Head tossed as Mark recalled a slap. _"Didn't think so. I wonder why Davis likes this dude anyways; he's too innocent for his own good. Whatever, come on, the Well Hungarians have a gig."_

More rain, it dripped down his very skin, it almost felt as if a spider was crawling all over him. Screams, they came from Mark, and he couldn't stop them. It grew so horrible that soon he felt as if he was on fire. _"Just grab the damned thing and go. He won't say anything about this if he knows what's good for him."_

"Dammit! Mark! _Mark!_" The yelling grew more insistent. "Wake up! Man, it's a _dream_!"

Glazed eyes regained a bit of color as the same rough hands gently slapped him in the face, head rolling from side to side as Mark's scrawny body deflated onto the mattress he currently lay in. Blue eyes blinked against the brightness in front of him.

"Mark?" The voice, rough and tired, sounded slightly relieved. "Are you all right now?"

Good question. Mark struggled into a sitting position, but, suddenly, felt two strong hands pushing him down. It felt _vulnerable._ Mark couldn't help it; he let out a small whimper and pushed his head further back into his cushions, screwing his eyes shut against the uncomfortable darkness. The dark didn't seem so bad when he knew that his eyes weren't open. Suddenly Mark couldn't but feel that he had never been _less_ all right then he was right now.

The images of distorted dreams seemed to be swimming across his mind trying desperately to press them together into a form of at least one single coherent thought. Everything seemed to be mocking him: The drunken slurs of his father on a particularly _off _night, the taunts from Roger's old band mates and… and those voices. Two men meshed to form one. So familiar, yet, so _puzzling_ at the same time.

Nothing made sense anymore. Absolutely nothing.

"Mark! Come on, man, don't fade out on me now."

Eyes opened and widened suddenly as the heat rose to Mark's cheeks. He finally noticed the familiar masculine lines around the shadowy face, the darker part of the person's chin signaling the small stubble. "Roger?" Mark, again, struggled into a sitting position. "Damn, Rog, get off of me. You're hurting me."

Roger, who seemed to be sitting on Mark's stomach in a previous attempt to hold the flailing blond still, scrambled off Mark and settled down on the side. "Sorry…" he said cautiously. "Geez, you scared the shit out of me."

Mark staggered into a sitting position, leaning his back against the headboard. "What were you doing?"

"It looked like you were going to hurt yourself. You were flopping around like a fish out of water." Roger sighed. "Head hurt?"

A cough. "Like a bitch. Geez… What happened?"

"You tell us." Marijuana smoke lifted through Mark's nostrils and suddenly, as he looked towards the foot of the bed, Mark found the large shadowed form of Collins sitting on his bed, one leg tucked underneath his body as the other swung freely off the mattress.

Mark just shook his head, a hand was stuck under his nose and he suddenly found himself fingering two small, white capsules. "What's this?"

"Prescribed medicine. We got it the day you got out of the clinic but it's just something to calm you down and help the headache, we haven't had to use it yet so I didn't want to tell you about it." Collins sighed; Mark felt the anarchist shift around his bed and cautiously stuff and cold glass of water into his hand. "Get it down with this."

"Thanks." Mark sighed, uncaring what pill he was popping. The only thing he wanted to do now was get rid of his headache, it felt like his head was going to explode any second. Of course, it didn't help that his throat was extremely raw from screaming. "What's that noise?"

Thumping. Thumping. Thumping.

_Ruff!_ Scratches on the door, claws clicking ceremoniously on the wooden loft floor._ Ruff! Ruff!_

"Damn it, my head is seriously screwed up."

Mark let his head fall into his hands, head still thumping from the migraine as the noises echoed through his ears. Suddenly Mark finally understood what people meant when they said that _when you lose one sense your others enhance_. Damn the facts.

A hand on his shoulder made Mark whip his head up, "Calm down. It's just Blink trying to get in."

_Creak…_ The door opened so suddenly that Mark wondered who had gotten up to open the door. _Ruff! Ruff!_

Odd texture and slobbery wet kisses nudged at Mark's cheek suddenly and soon his throbbing migraine was calming down to a lull ache. He patted Blink on the head, a small smile snaking its way up Mark's face, as he patted the faithful dog contently. Mark laughed as he attempted to nudge the dog's wet nose away from his mouth.

"Better?" _Squish._ The bed sunk, Collins had gotten the door.

"I'm fine."

Two words, the two words said more in the past four weeks than Mark's whole twenty-four years of life. It seemed so odd to his tongue, strange more like, but the words still came out on a sour tongue. There didn't seem too much for Mark to think of these days -especially these days. With nothing to do, no filming or trying to find a job, Mark was stuck with his own thoughts. It felt as if nothing was up there if he just thought about his words.

Life was just a big pile of words upon gestures and sights.

Except… no more sights…

Mark grabbed a fistful of hair as the _thump thump thumping _came back. Tears were building in the back of his eyes and suddenly the darkness was too much for his taste.

Everything was lost. Everything was… Nothing…

Roger's hand was moving from his shoulder and was now rubbing small circles up and down his back. "You're all right now." This was Gentle-Roger, Mimi's Gentle-Roger. "Calm down. Deep, even breaths."

Mark hadn't even realized his breathing had become shallow until Blink started nudging his throat.

In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out.

"That's it. Good," Roger whispered into his ear, voice still soft and gentle. "Okay?"

"You should be sleeping." Mark coughed.

Collins came up closer and ruffled his hair. "Boy, you need more sleep than we do. That sounded like some nightmare."

"Something like that." Mark sighed, leaning his head back against the headboard again as he absentmindedly patted Blink on the head. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

"Man, its 3 PM." Roger said. "You've been asleep since, at least, 11:30 PM last night."

_Shit,_ Mark thought, _whoever said oversleeping couldn't kill you is dead wrong._

Bad choice of words.

Collins let out a puff of marijuana smoke and Mark coughed a single word, "Strong…"

Roger sighed. "Put that out Thomas."

_Crsshht…_ The marijuana smacked between Collins' two fingers before flicked towards the nearest garbage can outside of Mark's open door. "Better?"

He coughed again and felt Roger's hand still rubbing circles on his back. "It's okay. I'm fine, really."

"It doesn't sound like it." Roger placed a hand on his forehead. "You're sweating up a storm Mark."

"Happens when you wake up from a nightmare." Blindly, Mark reached up and massaged his throat. "Guess I just overexerted myself from all that screaming."

"Yeah," Roger said. "You scared the shit out of Mimi, though; she thought you were having a heart attack."

"More like a panic attack," Collins said under his breath, but Mark still heard it.

"It wasn't anything like that," Mark defended himself, patting Blink on the head. "I was just having a nightmare. That's all it was, nothing else."

A squeeze came on Mark's shoulder and he looked to the side were Roger was. "Hey, we're not trying to make you feel bad, okay? I'm just saying, it sounded bad. Are you _sure_ it wasn't anything?"

A pause. Could he really tell Roger his dreams? Could he tell Roger that something was starting to pull at the back of his mind and suddenly nothing was making sense anymore? Could he? Well… he could…

"I'm sure."

He just couldn't.

"All right." Roger said, nodding his head hesitatingly.

"Is Mimi okay?" Mark questioned. "I mean-"

"She's fine." Roger replied. "Just worried, really. Calm down, man. We're all right."

"Are you sure because you said it's 3 PM and-"

"Jeezus. Mark, I swear!" Roger hissed, "We took the pills, just take care of yourself for once!"

Mark recoiled, subconsciously moving away from the angered musician. He did not like Angry-Roger, not one bit. It reminded him of the days of Withdrawal-Roger or, even, High-Roger. Fights, yells, punches, kicks, sobs; all the running emotions…

"I didn't mean-" Mark tried to smooth over, barely aware that Blink was beginning to bark again.

"_Shut up!_" Roger yelled, suddenly very angry as he hopped off the bed. His shadow-form glared down at Mark. "How can you keep asking about us when there's _nothing_ wrong with us? Absolutely nothing. We're fine, okay? Others may not see it Cohen-"

Roger only called Mark "Cohen" in two incidents: if he was joking, which was plainly not the case, but it also happened when he was angry.

"-but I do! This whole time and I've been wondering if it's true and I think it might be. Those words I said, remember them? Remember what I said to you when I left? You tell me if they're true!" Roger continued to yell.

The door opened. "Roger? Love, calm down." Mimi's voice.

Collins stood.

_Ruff! Ruff! Ruff! _Blink barking.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Stupid migraine.

"Facing your failure, facing your loneliness, facing the fact you live a lie! You're always preaching not to be numb when that's how you thrive: You pretend to create and observe when you really detach from feeling alive!" Roger mocked. "Prove that as a lie!"

Mark looked towards the shadowed Roger, tense and furious. He felt his eyes blink back the tears that were threatening to fall.

"Shit…" Roger muttered, turning his back and running.

_Prove that wrong Roger_, Mark told his friend. He winced at the sound of the slamming loft door. _Prove it wrong that you're not afraid to feel something. It's the same thing._

"Mark…" Mimi's petite hand was on his cheek. "Mark, I… He-"

"Go get him Mimi." Collins, rough-voiced and calm. "Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

"All right." Mark could barely see as Mimi nodded wordlessly and pressed a kiss onto his forehead before heading out the door in just a few quick strides.

"Here," a Kleenex was stuffed into his hand, "clean your face off. You've got dog slobber all over your cheeks."

"Yeah…" Mark chuckled hollowly as he complied, dabbing his eyes and cheeks. "Thanks."

_From facing your failure, facing your loneliness  
Facing the fact you live a lie  
Yes, you live a lie - tell you why  
You're always preaching not to be numb  
When that's how you thrive  
You pretend to create and observe  
When you really detach from feeling alive_

Damn it. Why'd it have to be those words? Mark didn't think that Roger remembered him. Or, at least, he was hoping Roger didn't remember them.

"Mark," Collins grabbed his arm and gently pulled him out of bed, "come on, man, Mimi made some chicken noodle soup for lunch."

"Mimi cooking? I think I'll pass." Another hollow laugh.

It was all too obvious that Collins wasn't in the mood. "Don't joke, not now."

"Sorry."

"And," Collins continued, pushing Mark gently onto a chair near the dining room table, "stop apologizing for something that's not even your fault."

Deep breaths. Mark watched wordlessly as the anarchist wandered in the kitchen. He trusted Collins that much, he was sure of it. Thomas Collins was like the big brother to their large bohemian family. Always mature when needed and always a fun, kind partier when the bohemians needed a good time.

"Here," The black bowl slid across the table and landed in front of Mark's nose, a strong whiff of the chicken noodle washing into his nostrils. "Eat up."

Collins handed Mark a spoon and suddenly Mark's stomach did a flip. "I really don't think I can keep this down."

"_Mark_." Collins said sternly. "Just eat the damned soup."

"I-" He opened his mouth, decided against commenting, frowned and stuffed a large portion of the soup into his mouth. It went flatly down his throat, better than Mark expected.

Mark continued to eat in the uncomfortable silence, the only sound being the unusual breathing of Blink at his shin. He felt the burning eyes of Collins' eyes on his face even though the anarchist was flipping through some sort-of book. Onion-thin pages ruffling against the air coming from the heater.

Spoon clattering against the bowl, Collins looked up. "Done?"

"Yeah."

More clattering, the spoon and bowl deposited into the sink with the rest of the dirt dishes. Collins busied himself with the mess. "Roger really needs to learn how to get off his ass and do some real housework."

"You don't need to do that," Mark said. "I can do it later."

"No," Collins said. "No, you can't, can you?"

"I could," Mark said confidently. "Visually impaired people can do things just like everybody else."

"True, however, the visually impaired go through certain training so that they learn how to cope with everything. It takes time to do things on your own. I know you found a way to take a shower by yourself-" He finished up and walked back towards the table, shadowed form standing above Mark in a towering way.

_No. Not now._

"Where's Benny?" Mark interrupted. "Is he still working on that studio space he found in the city?"

"How long has it been since you _really_ picked up your camera?" Collins countered.

"What about Maureen and Joanne?" Mark tried again. "Are they still together? You know them…"

"Has it been that long since you filmed anything? Days? Weeks?" Collins questioned. "Roger films foryou."

"I…" Mark looked past the shadowed form of Collins. "There's never…" Searching, wracking his brain for a different subject. Anything but this.

"Mark, I know you don't want to talk about it."

A sigh. "Then… just don't."

"Mark, I can help."

"Listen, Collins, I get enough of this from Doctor Crow. It doesn't help." Mark sighed. "Talking it out may seem like the best thing, but it doesn't work with me."

Collins shook his head. "I talked to Doctor Crow on the phone yesterday Mark, she says you don't open up enough to talk. You said some good things. You opened up a bit about your blood-family, but you don't talk about us in New York. Are you that _ashamed_ of us?"

"No!" Mark said forcibly, accidentally kicking Blink as he backed out of his chair and began blindly pacing the living room. "No, it's not like that at all! I'm just…"

"You're just _what_? Mark, you're not in this alone." Collins said.

"It's just… I just…" Mark grabbed his head again as the pounding returned; he ignored it this time. The pitter-patter of raindrops followed soon and Mark could tell that Collins wasn't going to say anything. "What's the point in this? Huh? I'm mad, annoyed, scared, but, mostly, I'm just… confused. I know this isn't the ultimate death sentence for me, but I'm a filmmaker. Nothing else. I haven't found myself to be anything but a filmmaker. Now, I'm just… me.

"Yet, I don't know who I am. All my life I've been trying to be the good guy because that's what's expected of me. I never yelled at my parents when they didn't understand me, never trying to make Cindy's life hell, I helped Roger through his withdrawal, I didn't say anything to Maureen when I knew she was cheating on me and I even let Maureen break up with me because I didn't want to hurt her feelings. See I'm a good guy?

"Or, at least, I try to be. You all do it, even when you don't realize it. Throw the burdens on Mark Cohen, because he can handle _anything_. It doesn't matter about his pain because your pain is important enough to step on my feelings. Throw all the anger out on me, because apparently I have no problems in the world. It isn't enough that's I've lost some friends already and I'm going to lose more. Guess what? I have feelings too! Didn't know that? Well, that's why people don't expect me to _feel_. Need something to do? KICK ME DOWN BECAUSE I'M JUST TRYING TO BE A GOOD GUY! Well, what do you do? Call me. Call Mark Cohen!"

Labored breathing followed down on Mark's rant as ignored the frantic barking of Blink down at his side. Mark wandered aimlessly towards the windowsill and leaned against the bench so that he was blankly staring out into the rainy New York City. He shivered as a hand flopped down on his shoulder.

"I just feel…"

"Irritated?" Collins whispered.

"Down right pissed." Mark hung his head. "Roger's right… I don't know how to feel alive."

"Mark," Collins shook his head; he turned the young man and made him face him, "you know how to feel. There's a point of knowing how to let those feelings out and letting others help you."

The tears fell like a waterfall. They splashed down Mark's cheek and suddenly he was clinging to Collins' shirt in a desperate attempt to hold himself up. Collins was patting his back reassuringly and Mark felt like he _needed_ this.

Collins whispered Mark's ear, "Everything's going to be fine."


	9. Confessions

**Chapter Nine: Confessions**

_Mark skillfully wrapped his hand in a dishtowel as he picked up a wet beer glass from the dish rack and began cleaning the interior of it. He then placed it up in the rack along with the rest of the glasses and continued the process as he whistled the tune coming from Roger's guitar. Wiping his hands off and drying them off with the same dishtowel he was using, Mark threw the white rag carelessly into the sink before adjusting his glasses and letting out a long, tired sigh. He leaned forward and rested his elbows comfortably on the bar top._

_A smiling Roger was sitting on the barstool across from him, on the other side of the counter. He was smiling to himself as he continued to strum chords on his old fender guitar as he wagged his feet out in front of him, black-footed feet propped on the counter. Roger adjusted the cigarette in his mouth and said, "So, what do you think? Pretty weird, huh?"_

"_I think you're still drunk." Mark laughed, letting one hand drop down to absentmindedly tap in tune with Roger's strumming. "What's all this about? I mean, no offence, but you don't seem the type to talk about shit like this."_

"_I was thinking about it. Collins had this book-"_

"_You were snooping!"_

"_Yeah, well," Roger frowned, "he's been gone for a long time tutoring that kid at NYU. I'm his roommate; I got curious."_

_Gingerly, Mark chewed at his bottom lip and stood straighter. "Are you sure you weren't looking for money?"_

"_Hell no." Roger glared. "Why would I be doing that?"_

"_Forget it," Mark said, sighing. He wasn't stupid; he knew Roger was snooping for money. They'd always caught Roger snooping for money these days; going out to who-knows-where with who-knows-who to do only-God-knows-what. Mark tried not to worry about it, it probably wasn't anything big._

"_Come on, man, I asked your opinion. Don't think that'll ever happen again anytime soon, mind you, because you know I'm not one to discuss these stupid theories if it means having to…you know…talk about things." Roger laughed. "What do you think?"_

_Roger hadn't been around as much as he used to- at least, not since he had found April. They went out nearly every night now and never even came back to the loft. Mark thought April hated him anyway. Still, it had taken a toll on Mark and Roger's friendship and the two men had rarely spent the day together. Sure, Roger still walked with Mark to the bar and back, but April was usually there with them and Mark was cast aside. At the bar, Roger was usually too busy for Mark… It was different._

_Change sucked._

_At least, tonight April was busy hanging out with Maureen and that left Roger and Mark alone._

"_Yo!" Roger waved a hand in front of Mark's eyes, chuckling lightly as Mark out of his strange stupor. "Are you sure you're all right, man? You're spacing today, and, I mean, more than usual."_

_Mark scratched the back of his head as a blush rose towards his cheeks. "I'm fine. It's nothing, really."_

"_Okay…" Roger gave him a funny look. "So, come on!"_

"_I don't know. It seems kind of farfetched, don't you think?" Mark blinked. "Chaos Theory… I've never really heard of it before."_

_Roger laughed. "It's not really a hard concept to grasp. Seemingly random events leading up to an even bigger equation. You know? Something small leading up to something huge. For instance: A butterfly flaps its wings and halfway across the world a hurricane forms."_

"_You are crazy," Mark deadpanned, pushing himself over the bar top. He grabbed a cloth from one of the tables and promptly began wiping the food and grime from it. "That doesn't even seem remotely possible."_

_Roger dropped his feet onto the floor and turned in his chair so that his back was leaning against the bar top and he was still facing Mark. "It's not that too hard to believe if you think about it a bit."_

"_Roger Davis thinks! Well, that must mean halfway across the world Albert Einstein is confused- Hey!" Mark laughed as he picked up Roger's guitar pick, which had just hit his eye, and tossed it back._

"_It could happen! I mean, over time that butterfly's flapping wing changes something in the atmosphere. Or, how 'bout, a kid claps his hands in New York and Africa develops a big lightning storm."_

"_Why Africa?"_

"_It was just an example!" Roger slumped, frustrated. "Just forget it."_

"_No, come on, I'm sorry." Mark stifled a chuckled as he plopped down on the stool next to Roger. "It just doesn't appeal to me. I've always believe that things happen for no reason at all, our actions shape the future. Nothing happens for a specific reason, there is no fate, destiny, soul mates, reincarnation, specific talent abilities…"_

"_So, how do you see it?"_

"_We're born plain," Mark stated simply. "The environment in which we grow up molds us into the person we develop into. Our mind makes the decisions; it all depends on how you react to what life throws at you."_

"_All right." Roger said, smashing his cigarette onto the bar top despite the angered protests Mark shot him. "So, say you were going blind and would never be able to film again. How would you feel?"_

"_What does that have to do with Chaos Theory?"_

"_Nothing. It has to do with your belief." Roger shrugged. "Your action of being a blind filmmaker would be part of your character, right? So…How are you supposed to act?"_

""_Honestly?"_

"_Honestly."_

"_Well, I don't know." Mark paused, involuntarily turning to glance at his camera. "I'd have to live with it, I guess. What else would I do? Being a filmmaker is all I am, and there isn't much point to anything else."_

_Roger frowned. "It wouldn't be only your problem."_

"_No?" Mark sighed._

"_Nah!" Roger laughed, "Because, ya see, you've got these things called Friends that won't let anything happen to you."_

"_Well, it is because of you that I'm here anyways." Mark laughed._

_Roger let out a small hitch of breath. "What the hell are you talking about? You told me you left Scarsdale to come here and become this all-time big director. Aren't you still working on that damned documentary? Don't tell me you gave that up because-"_

"_No, I'm still working on it," Mark interjected, trailing off slowly. "When I moved to New York City I thought I wanted to be a director, and, I guess, I still do in a way. It's just that, well, when I first moved here I didn't know- You know? Geez, Roger… That night I left the bar I was going to…"_

_Roger blinked. "What?"_

_Mark froze suddenly, eyes averted. "I'm sorry."_

_Hopping off his barstool, casting his guitar to the side, Roger walked forward and placed to stern hands onto Mark's shoulders. "Do what, Mark? What are you sorry for?"_

"_I don't know," Mark stammered, glazed eyes becoming small and meek, "I don't know what was going to happen. All right?"_

"_Mark… Man, what happened?"_

"_I don't know. Honestly. I was alone in the city and you get lonely and you have your low days and then things start popping into your brain. You know, like a way out… People contemplate things, that's it. I wasn't going to do anything."_

"_Bull. Did you tell Benny this? Does Collins know?"_

"_No and I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell them."_

_Roger faltered, hands falling to his side as his head hung. "Why were you at the bar? That was your first day, wasn't it?"_

"_Yeah. Benny got me the job and I couldn't rightfully refuse it."_ _Mark frowned. "I'd rather not talk about this. Please."_

"_Well," Roger turned sharply with blazing eyes, "you brought it up!"_

_Eyes still averted. Desperately, "Can't we just drop it?"_

"_Tell me Mark. How do expect me to drop this?" Roger fired back. "How do you expect me to just walk away and pretend you never told me this? You know what? I'll tell you! You are full of shit! Tell me, man. Tell me what the hell possessed such a thought to flow through that brain of yours."_

"_Rog…"_

"_No!" Roger yelled. He got up suddenly and forced Mark to stand taller by taking the front of his shirt in his fist. "Tell me!"_

"_I just…I don't know…" Mark frowned._

_Roger growled, "Try again." He took his hands off Mark and placed them on each side of his cheeks before forcing his head up, blue eyes meeting his own green orbs. "This time, the truth."_

"_What do you want me to say?" Mark blinked back tears. "Benny was there, but he wasn't anything to me then. I'd only been with him for a few weeks and he wasn't as close to me as he is now. Plus he was barely around as it was. I didn't know anybody. It was a weakness, you could say. At the time I thought it was the biggest mistake in the world, moving here. Then I met you and–"_

_Roger frowned, hands falling limply to his side. "What's so special about me?"_

"_Come on, Rog. I found a familiarity in you. We both could connect on something and make each other laugh and smile. We could talk to each other."_

"_Could? Roger was confused. "Past tense, man?""_

_Mark shook his head. "I don't know. Change happens and it sucks."_

"_Man, Mark, listen to me." Roger said, eyes slightly glazed, "I'm not going to leave you."_

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Roger tossed his head towards the sky and yelled out the most powerful yell he had ever shouted in his entire life. His lungs and throat began to burn suddenly and soon Roger fell to the ground, knees and fists digging into the mud below. Another scream elicited from his mouth, this one turning into a strangled sob, as his eyes screwed shut. He barely noticed the raindrops that fell down his cheek and meshed together with the teardrops that he could not even attempt to hold back.

Roger punched. Fists coming up and down, pummeling into the hard mud.

Left fist. Right fist. Left fist. Right fist. Left fist. Right fist.

Head turning upwards, towards the darkening sky. "I promised him!" Roger yelled, tears falling freely now, the rain masking it. "I promised him I wouldn't leave! I promised him I wouldn't walk out! What do I do now, though? All I do is walk!" He hung his head and thought; _I'm such a damned hypocrite…_

"Roger…" Mimi's petite hand covered his shoulder. She kneeled down next to him, uncaring that the mud would soak through her new skirt. "Roger, come back. Please?"

He shrugged off the hand. "Don't touch me Mimi."

Mimi frowned. "Roger-"

Turning his down up slightly, Roger gave a weak attempt at a smile. "See that? Mimi, I want you to meet April."

April Carson

1970-1989

"Is that pathetic?" Roger questioned with a voice barely above a whisper. "We don't even have an epitaph. Hell, I remember that night I asked Mark what we should put on her tombstone… What could we put on the tombstone of a girl who killed herself?" He laughed. "I mean, what's the point?"

Mimi said nothing. She leaned in closer and traced a finger across the name, the rough stone sinking in at the small etchings.

"I miss her…" He whispered. "Sometimes I think that if she didn't kill herself and just told me that we were HIV+ than we'd be together somewhere in New York City, not living at the loft. Maybe we'd still be with the Well Hungarians and I'd be a famous musician, you know?"

Mimi looked to him, brown eyes glimmering.

"Then, I got to think about it and I realized that, in some ways, April killing herself is the best thing that happened to us in a long time."

"How so?" She whispered.

"April was the reason I locked myself up in the loft and you were the one who found me, you found me and you got me out. We met because I was getting over April. If April hadn't died then I never would've gotten clean and you might still be on drugs. I should have been happy that I got out of the Well Hungarians, both those guys -Tony and Frank- are probably either in jail or rehab. Maureen would be gone too, Collins to MIT, Benny with Allison still, and Mark facing me, a druggie. He probably wouldn't have stayed if I kept getting high like that, or, at least, he probably wouldn't even be alive."

Suddenly Mimi was blushing, embarrassed at the thought of being jealous of Mark and Roger's relationship. Embarrassed of Mark getting all of Roger's attention. She hadn't known their past together that well…

"I really hurt him, didn't I?"

"Just come back to the loft."

"How can I?" Roger questioned, voice breaking. "After everything I said… Didn't you hear me? I promised him that I wouldn't walk out on him. I promised and I broke that promise even after I knew how much that meant to him."

She pressed her forehead to his back and wrapped her arms stealthily around his waist. "He needs you now. More than ever."

"After all I said…" Roger shook his head. "After everything I said to him…I can't take that shit back. It's all true. He detaches because he doesn't want to feel alive." He turned towards Mimi, her head now resting on his shoulder. "He detaches because he doesn't want to become too close to the people he'll lose. He will, won't he? He'll lose us all."

Mimi shook her head, tears falling onto Roger's shoulder. "We'll watch over him, even in death."

"It's not the same." Roger said. "It'll never be the same… Not now…"

"What about Maureen and Joanne? We still have Benny, don't we?" Mimi pointed out matter-of-factly. "Are you telling me that they'll leave him?"

Roger sighed. "Not on purpose, but they will. Maureen and Joanne have their own life, they'll get Mark out of his shell for a while but in the end they'll move on. It's not their fault, Maureen is Mark's ex, and it's just too much drama. Benny… He's redeemed himself for now but he's got a life too." He shook his head. "How do I know, though? I'm not a psychic."

"Mark will never be alone, he can never lose us." Mimi whispered, a hand stroking his hair. "You two are brothers-"

"In everything but blood," Roger interjected. "That's what's going to separate us though. In the end, blood is what will leave Mark alone."

Roger's voice cracked, he continued to blink back the tears that were beginning to form at the edge of his eyes. Something inside him was burning, something that made him weak in the stomach.

"Roger…" Mimi cooed. "It's not your fault."

"Yes, it is." Roger whispered. "Mark: My best friend, never did anything wrong, clumsy, worst luck in the world… I actually made him feel _guilty _for being the one to survive."

"You made him feel guilty, that's true, but there's still time to change." Mimi reminded him, "Forget regret. No day but today. Roger, make it today."

Roger looked towards her, tears falling down his face. "Let's get out of the rain, huh? Let's go back to the loft."

Mimi nodded.

"Mimi? Thanks…"

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Roger climbed the stairs with heavy steps, his head drooping downwards as a tight frown plastered his face. He held his fists buried deep inside his leather jacket and, at his side, Mimi's arm locked around his own as her head rested comfortably on his shoulder. They had little to say since their walk from the cemetery to the loft and it made Roger tense. He didn't know what to expect when he walked into the loft though; Mimi just told him that Collins was calming Mark down.

_Good,_ Roger thought to himself. _Collins is better than I am at these kinds of talks._

Pushing the large metal door to the side, Roger stopped in his tracks at the sight in front of him. Collins sat at the kitchen table, feet kicked up onto the tabletop, chair tilted back on two legs, cigarette poking out of the corner of his mouth, reading a newspaper -he looked positively content. Looking up with a small frown, Collins arched an eyebrow before wordlessly gesturing his head towards the windowsill, Mark's perch. Roger turned his head and found Mark sitting with his shoulders hunched as he sat with his knees drawn close up to his chest as glazed eyes looked toward the city below.

"I saw you two coming," Mark said suddenly, his voice barely above the whisper. "Mimi's long strides were a dead giveaway, but I also saw that Roger's posture was hunched too, another giveaway." He tilted his head towards them and chuckled. "Even in shadows you're too easy to see."

"Chill out, boy." Collins shook his head, kicking off his seat he folded his newspaper he was reading and tucked it under his arm as he walked towards Mimi and Roger in the doorway. Adjusting his cigarette in his mouth, Collins lowered his voice to whisper, "I talk to him and he worked himself a bit…confessing. Just don't ask him about it and you should be fine, it wasn't easy calming him down."

Roger blinked.

"Is he all right?" Mimi whispered, frowning.

"As far as I know," Collins sighed, "I _don't_ know. There isn't much to tell?"

"Will he be all right?" Mimi questioned desperately. "He will. Won't he?"

"It's all Mark now."

"No," Roger shook his head, "it's not anymore."

Suddenly there was a great laugh.

"Hey guys! What's the door doing open?"

Maureen relinquished her hold on Joanne and turned to place her hands on her waist, lips puffing out annoyingly. Meanwhile Joanne, who seemed to recoil a few steps back at the boisterous yell of her girlfriend, looked to her with a glare of dislike. To their side, Benny wore the same look of distaste as his gloved hands that had covered his ears against Maureen's yell, lowered.

"Maureen!" Joanne hissed, grabbing the diva's wrist. "Lower your voice! Didn't we talk about this before?"

"Sorry Pookie-" Maureen pouted her lips. She stopped and looked towards the four inhabitants, three of which had a grim look on their face while Mark kept his blank stare. "Hey Mar- hhmrrmmm!"

Collins had to jump to place his two hands in front of Maureen's mouth, his newspaper fluttering uselessly to the ground. "Come on," he said in a forced joyous tone, "how 'bout I treat everybody to ice cream?"

"Sounds great!" Mimi said. Her own voice forced too.

Benny, however, furrowed his eyebrows. "What am I? Five?" Mimi simply elbowed his side and jerked her head to Roger, who had taken a few steps closer to the solemn Mark. Benny sighed and nodded, "Right. Let's get outta here."

"What about-" Maureen barely got the words out when Collins covered her mouth again.

Collins looked pleadingly towards Joanne and the dark-skinned lawyer quickly took the hint. "Come on Maureen!" she grabbed the woman's wrist and practically dragged her from the loft. "Remember how you told me that you liked Rocky Road?"

"Pookie! That's our-"

Joanne shot her a dirty look.

Collins rolled his eyes and shut the loft door.

The two men were alone.

Roger walked towards his friend cautiously, his hands climbing out of his pockets to wipe the sweat on his jeans. He wandered towards the windowsill, stopping to pick Mark's discarded camera on the couch, before continuing on his trek. Pushing his hand through his hair, unable to stop any kind of movement, Roger wordlessly plopped down across from Mark and delicately placed the camera between them. Mark barely looked at him.

How could Roger just walk back after that open display of emotion?

The words seemed repetitive now.

_From facing your failure, facing your loneliness  
Facing the fact you live a lie  
Yes, you live a lie - tell you why  
You're always preaching to be numb  
When that's how you thrive  
You pretend to create and observe  
When you really detach from feeling alive_

Why the whole damn thing gave Roger a headache, Roger did not know. The words haunted him… That voice that whispered the words into his ear seemed to grow colder over time. The voice was being more assertive… It was becoming more forced. Roger shook his head as the words came back to him:

_Facing the fact you live a lie-  
-When you really detach from feeling alive_

"You all right?" Mark questioned, eyes glazed over slightly.

"Don't ask me that."

"_Come on!_" April's voice. Her head tossed back thick strands of red hair. "_Maureen and Mark are going out tonight and we won't have anything to do. Let's go to Frank's party, baby. He promised us a good time. You said yourself that you wanted to try something new. Why not this?_"

She meant smack. Roger knew that and they went anyway.

"_See?_" Later they were at the party. "_It's not that bad. You were worried too! Frank's got some more in the back if we want some, and he told me of this guy at Tompkins Square Park who sells some._"

"Roger? You all right?"

"What?" Roger shook his head. He hadn't realized the memories of his first high were rushing back to him. "What'd you say?"

Mark seemed to hang his head. "It's nothing… I was just… Worried about you."

"Yeah…" Words failed Roger. "I was just thinking."

"Oh."

"_One more time Rog! Just once, okay? We do it one more time and then we can quit like we said we would. Remember, Tony said it would be real easy just to drop everything. You know, The Man is thinking of giving me some for half the price… Please Roger! Just one more!_"

Roger couldn't back away. That was when April threatened him with breaking their relationship off.

She said one more, but two years passed.

"_Hey Roger, baby…_" Desperate voice, almost sad. She had to talk to him on the phone. "_We've got to stop for a second. I need to talk to you. You've been blowing me off for the entire week to go out with the Well Hungarians and I've got…well, I've got some bad news. Just…listen, Roger, I'll be at the loft later tonight, okay? Promise that you'll be waiting for me?_"

Roger hadn't been there. He'd promised April but the Well Hungarians had dragged him off to a gig.

Last minute.

The last message was bloody.

"_We have AIDS._"

A fingerprinted message on the bathroom mirror.

_When you really detach from feeling alive_

Roger detached. Grieving for April, facing the fact that he fell in love with Mimi, facing Angel's death, facing the fact that Benny was there to stay, and, now, Roger was facing Mark's pain. He couldn't take it.

_Facing the fact you live a lie_

It made sense. Didn't it?

Roger lived a lie too. He hadn't wanted to believe it, but, he couldn't help it. Roger felt like he was to blame for April's death because he thought he could've prevented it. Just one time. Just one time Roger had to say "No April" and maybe it would've all been over-

Wait… No more "maybe." No more "what if."

"_Forget regret. No day but today._" Mimi's words. "_Roger, make it today._"

Mark was talking still. "Roger, you're scaring the shit out of me."

Roger blinked, jumping out of his train of thoughts. "Hell if I hadn't scared you before."

"Well…wait, what?" Mark shook his head, clearly confused. He tried again, "Listen Roger, it'd be better if we just-"

"Talk."

"Excuse me?"

"Talk," Roger said, his voice forceful. "We'll figure this out together." He pushed the camera into Mark's hands and nodded confidently. "Film me if you want."

"What?" Mark questioned again, recoiling slightly. He held the camera in his hands as if it were going to bite. "I can't see anything…I- I don't want to break-"

"You won't break anything," Roger said sternly. "Do what you do best, Mark. Listen to me and film me. _Trust_ me."

Mark ran a hand through his camera and took in a deep breath before placing it over his eyes, focusing it on Roger's shadowed presence. His fingers moved skillfully over the black and silver metal as he pressed an odd number of buttons, cranked the camera' handle, and nodded. "All right."

"Zoom in on Roger," Mark narrated, his voice cracked. "Things are changing, aren't they? We're different now."

"Yeah, but," Roger smiled slightly, "we're different in a good way."

"Forgive me for being an ass?"

Roger gave a small laugh. He couldn't help it, the statement did sound pathetic. "That should be my question. Do you forgive me for being a hypocrite?"

"You aren't a hypocrite." Mark sighed.

"Well, you aren't an ass." Mark laughed and Roger felt he was making some progress. "Listen, about before…those words that I said. They were-"

"Absolutely correct and over the top?" Mark frowned. "Yeah, I know. It worked out for the best though, didn't it?"

"How's that?" Roger blinked. "Those words have been nothing but hell ever since I said them to you last year."

"Maybe, but, they sure put a lot of things to perspective. I do detach Roger-"

"Wait now," Roger interjected, "this isn't about you confessing. I'm the one at fault here."

"No," Mark said, a small smirk plastering his face. He put down his camera, sightless eyes looking into Roger's green eyes. "We were just too stubborn to notice that before, so we just placed all the faults on ourselves when it was all fifty-fifty." Mark frowned. "I just can't admit to actual faults because in a matter of weeks I've lost all control of my emotion."

Roger shook his head, placing his hands on Mark's shoulders. "You're not like that anymore, Mark. Just listen to yourself. Lost control? That means you're not detaching. Everything's rushing up to you and you don't know how to handle it, because you've never tried to handle it before. I've never helped you!"

"I was too afraid of getting you closer to me," Mark frowned. "You, Mimi, and Collins are going to die and there's nothing I can do about it, no matter what I've been telling myself. I push people away so I won't have to feel, so I hide behind my camera. Because I don't have my camera I have to deal with emotions."

"I detach too. Not in the same way, but I do. I am a hypocrite." Roger squeezed his friend's shoulder. "I'm dying and I don't want to let anybody in because I'm afraid I'll hurt them, like I'll eventually end up hurting you by leaving. Everyday I think about how I let April down, how if I just had enough courage to say it then maybe we would've stopped doing drugs and neither of us would've gotten sick." He shook his head. "I'm not wasting my life on regrets because I know no matter how much I think it nothing's going to change the past.

"Still, everything I said was the same thing as it is to you. We both detach because neither of us can afford to feel alive. We're afraid that our emotions will get the best of us and those emotions will kill us faster. Somewhere, over time, we've learned that not feeling anything is easier than feeling something. That's not true, though. Bottled up emotions do nothing."

"I'm sorry for not talking to you before."

"I'm sorry I yelled at you."

Roger let out a laugh and pulled Mark into a brotherly hug, the camera lay forgotten beneath their heads. Roger understood… Roger understood they all detached in one way or another.

"Roger?" Mark said, not bothering to blink back his tears as he backed out of the embrace.

"Yeah." Roger questioned, using his finger to flick away his own tears. "What is it?"

"I think I need to hear this film now…"


	10. A Good Samaritan

**Chapter Ten: A Good Samaritan**

"Do you ever wonder why it rains?"

"Excuse me?"

Mark pulled his legs closer to his chest, rested his chin on his knees and cocked his head sideways so that his ear was arched upwards listening to grunts of frustration. Blue eyes blinked blankly at the black shadow of Roger shuffling in front of him and it made Mark shake his head amusedly as he let out a deep sigh. "Do you ever wonder why it rains?"

The shadow in front of Mark froze suddenly and he nearly laughed as he pictured the look of confusion on his best friend's face. Roger turned on his heel suddenly and pasted his hands on his hips in an amused manner. "Do I ever wonder why it rains? Well, no. If you want, Mark, I can go get Collins' encyclopedia and find out."

"That's no what I meant." Mark sighed. "Do you ever wonder why it rains at such odd times?"

"In April?"

"What? April's not an odd time for rain."

"I was just trying to answer your question."

Stifling his laughter, Mark raised his head slightly and arched an eyebrow in the direction of Roger. It wouldn't have been such a funny statement if Roger didn't make it sound so pathetic. "That's not what I meant."

"Oh," Roger stated stupidly, obvious embarrassment etched in his voice. "What did you mean?"

"Rain. It always rains when something happens. It's not always bad, yet it's not always good either."

Suddenly there was a drop in the cushion and Roger was sitting down next to him. "I'm not following."

"Well, you know how when you go to a movie and you're watching a dramatic scene at the end of the movie where everything is being resolved and there's this scene where the main characters are talking to each other and they're having their moment and suddenly it rains. In a movie it builds out the emotion, but it happens in real life too. All these moments have been happening when it's been raining-" Mark stopped suddenly; Roger was holding a hand in front of his face. "You know that I can't see as it is, right?"

Roger laughed. "Would you calm down? I think you're over thinking this rain thing."

"Seems to be the case lately."

"Damn straight."

"Maybe, but what if I'm not. Huh? What if what I said actually makes sense?"

"Do you hear yourself, Mark? I mean, your making it seem like your life is one big movie and we actually have an audience watching our every movement."

"Hell," Mark laughed, amused. "I bet they'd get a kick out of my pathetic life."

"You're not pathetic."

"Roger, I was just talking about _rain_."

"Well, if we're going to be honest, I think thunderstorms would've been a better topic."

"Shut up!" Mark promptly grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it into his friend's face, smiling as he watched Roger's shadowed form fall back slightly at the impact off his face. "I got the projector set up. Are you done with the screen?"

Roger growled, picking himself off the floor where he had just fallen. "I'm working on it."

"It shouldn't be that hard," Mark said nonchalantly. "It's a _sheet_."

"Of course it is." Roger grunted, back at the front of the room standing on the very tip of his toes as he struggled to attach the _sheet_ to the wall with duct tape- the duct tape was winning. "One audition and the Well Hungarians got into CBGB's, it took me two days to learn Musetta's Waltz, I dropped out of high school and came to live with Collins when I was sixteen, and I still can't figure out how to put a damn sheet on the a wall."

Mark laughed. "You realize that only one of those turned out to be a good thing, right?"

"What? Moving to New York and living with Collins in this hellhole?" Roger questioned, tearing more duct tape off the roll. "Yeah, that one is, I guess, but I always thought Musetta's Waltz was a good thing to. It is kind of my muse music."

"The music from hell?"

"Music from hell?" Roger turned suddenly. "I thought you liked when I played it."

"Not when you're playing it endlessly. You realize that last year, when you were trying to write _Your Eyes_, you played that damned song nonstop for months? It drove me up the wall. Hell, it got me out of the loft and I ended up at the Life Café having dinner with Joanne and Maureen!"

"Both at the same time?" Roger questioned, laughing. "Wow. Good to know how to drive you out of a room."

Mark laughed mockingly. "Feelin' the love Rog."

"Touché!" Roger mocked before, "Shit! Looks like we might need some more tape."

"You really are pathetic." Mark stood up blindly and waved his hands in front of him, feeling his way towards the front of the room and moving around Roger so that his hands were reaching out to take the sheet in his hands. Sighing heavily, Mark let his hands to the work for him as he ran his fingers over the back of the sheet and nodded triumphantly as he found what he was looking for. "There."

First corner. Second corner. Third corner. Fourth corner.

The sheet hung on the wall.

Mark walked back, satisfied, to the couch and plopped down casually as if nothing new in the world had just taken place. He felt Roger plunk down next to him and blindly banged his friend's shoulder gently. "Is it up?"

"How the hell did you do that?" Roger questioned, a large roll of used tape wadded up in his hands. "After ten minutes and you didn't tell me anything!"

"That's not my fault." Mark laughed, putting his hands up in defense. "You're the one who kept saying _"Don't worry Mark! I got this one. Just sit back and I'll have this sheet up in just one minute." _no matter how many times I kept trying to help." Mark smiled. "It just got annoying."

"Still… how?"

Mark rolled his eyes. "Thumbtacks. Jeez, Rog, there were a pack of a pack of em' sitting on the table. I heard them rattling when Collins brought it home from his tutoring lesson last night. He said something about using it for his World History lesson…"

"Whatever."

"Don't get mad at me for getting that screen up before you."

Roger laughed. "Fine. Kill my pride."

"What pride? I thought- Hey!" Mark fell into the back of the couch and grabbed the pillow that had suddenly smacked his face. He waved it in the air, "Thanks."

"Anytime."

"So…" Mark paused, careful of how to place his words. "Now what?"

Roger sighed. "You tell me. We got the projector set up, the screens on the wall, and I'm as ready as ever. The ball's in your court now Mark. What do you want to do?"

Nearly a month had past since that fateful March night and Mark had gone through this whole scenario in his head before. Now, Mark was mere seconds away from watching the damned film, with Roger at his side, and he was afraid. Did the film have anything to do with his vision? However, most importantly, why did Mark never remember what happened? Why did his mind block off such an event? Was he really ready to watch it?

There were just too many questions.

"You'd think that would be an easier question to answer," Mark finally said. He pulled his legs closer to his chest and carefully buried his face into his knees. There was a certain amount of safety in this particular position. Mark hugged his legs and blinked against the darkness of his knees.

"Mark," Roger sighed, "it's not an easy question. You know, as well as I do, that this film could determine a lot of things, but, at the same time, it could tell you nothing."

"That's not helping, Rog."

"Maybe it's not supposed to."

"Well, I'd appreciate help in this situation."

"Hey," Roger placed his hands on Mark's shoulders and lowered his voice to a calming whisper. "I am helping you the best I can, considering everything that happened a few minutes ago. Now, I told you I wouldn't run out on you again and I'm not going to break that promise this time. Whether you like it or not, you're stuck with me."

"I'm not saying that you aren't helping."

"Mark… damn, man, look at me." Roger squeezed his shoulders reassuringly. "Stop trying to hide from the world. I'm living up to my fair share of the bargain; I'm going to take care of you like you've always taken care of me."

"You don't need to take care of me-"

"Maybe," Roger sighed. "You ready?"

"Just play it."

"Okay. Here we go…"

"You'll tell me everything that's going on?" Mark whispered, anxious. "I want to know what's on this thing."

"Every little detail, man." Mark felt Roger swing his arm across his shoulders and was suddenly pulled into a tight side-by-side hug. "Don't worry"

The film wasn't edited, Mark knew that much. He tilted his head slightly so that he could listen to the beginning of the reel as the projector wound up the film and got it ready for play. Sighing deeply, Mark let his knees drop slightly so that he was sitting plainly on the couch and wasn't wrapped up in his usual cocoon. Roger squeezed his shoulders one last time before letting go, but, Mark noticed, Roger stayed close enough so that their shoulders were still touching.

_Good, _Mark thought to himself. _Reassuring contact…_

Such a little thing like contact made Mark feel more comfortable as he waited for the film. Actually, it was the little thing of contact that kept Mark and Roger so close together.

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

_CRASH!_

_The gray phone Roger threw missed Mark's feet by mere inches; it fell to the ground and shattered into a million of little pieces. Mark cringed as the earsplitting wail of his friend cut through the loft's tense air like a bad slap on the face. He looked to Collins with wide eyes and mouthed the obvious question that was lingering in the back of both their minds. "What do we do?"_

_Collins could only shrug in response. The anarchist kicked through the broken telephone pieces and stepped closer to their sobbing roommate, Roger, who had just dropped to his knees and was currently burying his face into his hands. "Roger? I know it's hard, but you've got to understand that this is not a death sentence. I've survived this for nearly ten years; you can too."_

"_No…" Roger sobbed, his shattered body shuddering with building sobs that continued to wrack his body, "it's different this time Thomas. You can survive this because you're so much stronger. It's nothing like me. I'm too weak-"_

"_Hey now," Collins kneeled down in front of Roger and squeezed the man's shoulders lightly before forcing the musician to look him eye-to-eye so he could say in a stern voice, "You are not weak. This disease is a damned burden, sure, but it does not kill your will and pride."_

"_What's the point?" Roger questioned, tears streaming down his face. "Day by day I'm dying. Why not just make it today. Save everybody the trouble."_

"_The hell you are," Collins muttered angrily. "Don't take the easy way out. Don't be a coward."_

_Mark cautiously started forward, watching the exchange between his two friends with a heavy heart, his eyes widened as they never even noticed his approach until he was right in front of them. "Rog," he whispered, kneeling down next to Collins. He watched as Roger's head whipped to him, and for a split second cringed as the musician's eyes widened in surprise. "We'll both be here for you-"_

"_No!" Roger wailed suddenly, limbs flailing blindly. He backed up subconsciously until he was a few feet away from Mark, Mark's hand falling to where he had picked it up to squeeze Roger's shoulder. "Stay away!"_

"_Roger…" Mark whispered, "I'm not going to hurt you."_

"_Maybe," Roger sobbed, "but I'll hurt you."_

_Collins moved closer. Mark watched with hurt eyes as Roger let Collins place a hand on his cheek, forcing Roger to look at him again. "You are not contagious!"_

"_I don't want to…" Roger sobbed, green eyes moving past Collins' brown orbs and looking into Mark's very core. "I don't want to hurt you."_

_Mark moved closer, hand reaching out. "Then let me-"_

"_No!" Roger squirmed, curling himself into a tighter ball. "Don't let me hurt- I don't want to hurt you… Please, Mark. Please…"_

"_You're not hurting him!" Collins shouted, shaking Roger's shoulders. "Don't ever fear contact! A simple thing such as touch can assure even the most shelled person."_

_Mark watched quietly as Roger battled his inner demons, face contorting in pain and conflict. Eyes widened suddenly and Mark watched a flicker of realization burst through Roger's face. _

"_It's my fault… Man, it is, isn't it? I did this. Those damned drugs are killing me." Roger's face crumpled and suddenly he lunged past Collins and dove for Mark, who stumbled backwards at the weight of the bigger man jumping into his chest. Roger sobbed, wrapping his arms around Mark and burying his face into his chest. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"_

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

"Why do I think this isn't going to end well?"

"You're still over thinking," Roger muttered. His finger hovered over the play button, "You ready?"

"Hell if I know," Mark mumbled, more to himself than to Roger. He looked up and watched as Roger's shadowed form tensed slightly. "Play it."

The beginning of the film was usually Mark's favorite part of the whole footage. Not because of what was usually in the beginning. Sure, the _A Mark Cohen Production_ always had a nice ring to it- but Mark liked it because of the symbolism. The beginning of the film usually meant that Mark had completed something; he had taken the time to shoot, edit, and screen an actual film.

_Of course, _Mark thought to himself. _This is way different._

XXXXXXXX

Roger watched the black and white scratches as the projector flickered to life and began to form the image on the white screen in front of them. It always creped Roger out how such a lively film like Mark's could start with such a rough, bland beginning and go into an astonishing masterpiece. Of course, maybe that was why Roger was so enticed by Mark's films. Ever since _Today 4 U: Proof Positive _was shown to their little bohemian family, and possibly before that, Roger had always wondered how Mark could recreate such images, good and bad, and make them so… _entertaining._

The screen flickered to life before them and, as Roger leaned forward slightly, anticipating the image that would appear, he felt Mark go tense. Green eyes flashing back to his friend, Roger shot Mark a worried glance and, after realizing Mark couldn't see his look, he quickly nudged Mark softly.

"What's the focus?" Mark questioned, voice in such a whisper that Mark had to lean down slightly so that he could make out the words.

Green eyes looked back towards the screen; Roger narrowed his eyes and watched as the silent camera movements switched randomly around the area. He made out the trees, uncut grass, and various people and responded, "Tompkins Square Park." Roger looked towards Mark. "I thought you went to Central Park."

"I didn't know."

"Oh, well maybe you were there earlier."

"Right."

Roger's eyes flickered back to the film. Mark counted on him to recount the image on the film and that's what Roger was going to do, not leaving out a single detail- just like he had promised. No more breaking promises.

"_March 29th, 1:00 PM, Eastern Standard Time._"

The onscreen-Mark's voice flittered through the air, his voice so carefree that it almost made Roger feel sick. However something stuck out in Roger's mind that he had to ask, "Did you say it was the 29th? The day you went into the clinic was the 30th."

"Really?"

Suddenly his head fell into his hands and his nails were digging into his hair. Roger muttered, "I was downstairs with Mimi all night and I called you- but maybe you were screening that night and I thought you picked up the phone. You were gone for eight hours though… Was it longer than that?"

"Rog-"

"I should've realized… I was downstairs with Collins and Mimi all night and we didn't even realize…I didn't notice."

"Roger." Mark whispered. "Wait, listen…"

"_Yeah… Okay, listen… No. No. Yes, Rog._" Onscreen-Mark's voice flittered to life. "_I'll think about it okay… Hang on- No! Listen just stay out with Mimi, okay? She needs you right now… No, I'm fine… Probably- Okay? No. We can catch some dinner tomorrow at the Life Café? Yeah…_" Onscreen-Mark paused. "_My camera is on… No, I'm thinking of a new documentary idea…_"

"See?" Mark sighed. "You did call me. Man, don't freak out on me… I don't know what I'll do-"

"_Okay… Yeah, Rog, I'll be careful._" Onscreen-Mark said. "_Listen, I've got to go, you're running film out on my camera… Yes! Are you happy? I'm still filming… What? Well- No, I guess. Okay, maybe I am desperate to film something. Right, whatever… See yah later._"

Roger sighed. "Call it a mini-breakdown?"

"Just forget it. Forget regret."

"Right." Roger cleared his throat. "Okay, let's see. Looks like you hung up the phone and now you're shooting around the park."

"_What do we have here…_"The camera slid to the side quickly._ "Looks like our old friend is taking on some new client since he lost Roger and Mimi to us._"

"My old drug dealer." Roger's eyes widened. "I swear, if he did anything-"

Mark went fidgety. "What's happening?"

"Nothing really. It looks like you're hiding behind a tree and you're zooming in on The Man- damn, you're lucky he doesn't see you. Did you know he carries around a knife?"

"Well, considering I have no knife wounds, I don't think he did anything," Mark muttered. "Who's the _new client_ that I'm talking about?"

"Some woman. She kinda looks familiar, though I can't place it." Roger fixed his eyes on the woman's petite figure. "She's got straight, shoulder-length brown hair, kind of like Mimi's but much lighter, almost like my hair color but a little bit darker-"

"Rog, I know you're helping, and I appreciate that, but you're overloading me with details."

"Sorry." Roger blushed subconsciously. "She's wearing baggy jeans, a long white sweater, and she's got on a jean jacket… Okay, now she's taking the baggie and exchanging it with money."

"_Imagine,_" Onscreen-Mark's voice came back into focus, "_what her story is…_"

"Now what?" Mark questioned Roger. "What's happening?"

"I don't know…you're in the city. Riding on your bike, I think. Yeah, you're on your bike!" Roger frowned as he cursed himself and his observation skills. "Okay, it looks like you're heading back to the loft."

Roger watched the footage carefully, the only sound coming from the film were the annoyed honks of the cars- which were probably for Mark for riding his bike on the street weaving through the New York City traffic in record time. There wasn't really much to see though: businessmen walking with their briefcases, passersby, parents holding their children's hands, homeless people lining the sidewalks, teenagers wandering aimlessly-

"_Shit!_" Onscreen Mark shouted suddenly.

"What happened?" Mark's eyes had widened at the sound of his own voice on the screen, yelling. "Rog? What did I do?"

If it had been any other time, Roger might've thought that question to be funny, but, right now, it wasn't time to think like that. "Looks like you crashed," Roger stated monotonously.

He watched with wide eyes as the silver metal of Mark's bike flew onto the screen and smashed into the wall of a nearby building. It was odd though, Mark never crashed his bike. Roger physically cringed as he watched his best friend fly over the handlebars and land with a quick '_thud'_ on the ground. The bike, which had hit the wall, had overturned as the whole image turned sideways -since Mark always fastened the camera on his bike.

"_Damn._" Onscreen-Mark cursed a few more profanities as he picked himself up off of the dirty cement and rubbed his knee with one hand and rubbed his head with the other. "_Great. Now they're going to think I got mugged._"

"Hmm-mm," Roger thought, "so I guess that's where you got the cut on your knee and the bruise on your temple. Hell of a fall." He looked towards his tense roommate. "Do you remember?"

"Flashes of it." Mark responded, absently rubbing his knee where the scratch was. "I swerved to miss a woman who had run out into the street and ended up hitting the curb and flipping a bit-"

There she was!

That same _familiar_ woman…

"_I'm so sorry!_" She shouted, running up to Mark with a small frown plastering her face. Her green eyes glimmered lightly, like she was about to cry any minute. "_Are you okay? I'm really sorry about that! I thought it was clear!_"

"_That's all right.__"_ Onscreen-Mark laughed, brushing the dirt off his dark jeans. _"__I didn't hit you, did I?__"_

"_No. I'm okay.__"_ The woman had answered, her head bowed in shame_. "__It was my fault…__"_

"_I'm Mark Cohen. And who, may I ask, are you?__"_ Onscreen-Mark flashed a smile; he seemed to be trying not to scare the new acquaintance away.

"_My name is Tammy._"

"-Tammy." Roger whipped his head to the side and was surprised to see Mark sunk back into the couch, his sightless blue eyes wide with shock. "I remember her, Rog. She's Tammy. I met her and we went to the Life Café, I bought her some lunch."

"_I really couldn't._" Roger's eyes flickered back to the screen where the girl, now known as Tammy, was having a win-lose conversation with onscreen-Mark about the Life Café, just like Mark had said. "_It was my fault you're bike is ruined. I don't think it would be fair if you paid for my lunch…_"

"_It's an old bike._" Onscreen-Mark lifted the camera from it's place and zoomed it in on the crushed metal piece that was his bike. "_I'm just glad nothing happened to my camera. Come on, what do you say? I'm offering free lunch! Unless… do you have to be somewhere?_"

Tammy looked at her watch. "_No. Well… I guess I could come for a few minutes. I've really got to get back home before somebody finds out I left again._"

"_Great!__"_ Onscreen-Mark's voice shouted happily.

Mark blinked, his body sinking lower into the couch. "Are we going to the Café?"

"I guess." Roger shrugged. "The screen is blank… Can you hear the noises in the background? I think you forgot the lens cap…" Roger arched his brow and questioned, "Since when do _you _forget something like that?"

"_Be careful with that! It's not a toy, ya know?__"_ Onscreen-Mark's voice lifted through the darkness as the black screen jumped up and down before Roger's eyes. _"__You could at least take the cap off…__"_

"Heh," Roger laughed as he saw Mark on the footage, his face zoomed in on so close that he was watching the icy blue of Mark's eyes through his dark-rimmed glasses. "Looks like that girl, Tammy, took your camera."

"_Shit! How the hell do you work this thing?__"_ Tammy questioned, the footage panning out slightly so that it showed Mark's face, who didn't look too happy that his camera was being touched by a novice filmmaker. _"__What's up with you? Problem with the way I operate your overrated camera?__"_

"_If you think it's so overrated than give it back to me,__" _Onscreen-Mark grumbled, he reached his hands out and grabbed the camera from her grasp before turning it around so that it would focus on Tammy.

She giggled and waved at the camera shyly. _"__Jeez, you're such a filmmaker.__"_

"She was really sweet." Mark's whisper brought Roger out of the footage. "I remember that day… or, at least, I remember some of it. We got along really well though; she's a photographer and a college dropout who went to Brown, though, not the same year. I think she said that she came to New York to be with her sister…"

"_Do you want me to turn this off?__"_ Onscreen-Mark questioned. _"__Usually most people don't like me filming them.__"_

"_Why not?_"

"_Probably because I do it 24/7.__"_ They both laughed at that.

"_It's no problem. Here,__"_ her hands reached out and adjusted the camera slightly so that it was resting on the table facing both of them equally_, "__now I can see you eye-to-eye.__"_

Roger stifled his own chuckle as he watched the blush burn on his friend's face, both onscreen and off. It was odd, however, to see Mark asking somebody if they wanted to be film. Usually Mark stuck his camera in their faces whenever he had the chance. Roger remembered when he first met the kid that he wasn't even shy to pan on Roger and narrate his every movement. Not that Roger minded the attention much back then.

"_So, you said you dropped out of Brown? How old does that make you?__"_

Tammy smirked, _"__I don't know. What's the date?__"_

"_March 29th.__"_

"_Today is my birthday, which would make me twenty-two.__"_ She rose her beer glass and smiled.

"Nice job," Roger chided Mark, who still wore his blush, "looks like you found a woman."

"Well, obviously it didn't work out too well… considering."

_Oh, yeah…_ Roger mentally slapped himself. _What did Collins say to you? Think before you open your mouth…_

"_It's your birthday?__"_ Onscreen-Mark's eyes bugged out._ "__What the hell are you celebrating your birthday with a stranger for anyways? Or is that why you were running across the street? Am I holding you up to meet a friend to do something?__"_

Tammy frowned. _"__You could call him a friend. I wouldn't… It's complicated, really.__" _She looked to her watch and practically jumped out of her seat._ "__Shit! Frank's going to kill me! I'm late!"_

Onscreen-Mark stood quickly and threw a wad of bills on the table before grabbing his camera hastily and rushing out the door of the Life Café to follow the fleeing woman. _"__Wait! Do you need some help? I mean, I saw you in the park earlier…__"_

The frown on Tammy's face fell, if possible, deeper. _"So I did see you at Tompkins Square Park, huh? Did you see me buying the smack from The Man?"_

"_I wasn't spying…__" _Onscreen-Mark's voice, though he wasn't on the camera, came on. _"__Do you need some help? I mean, I know some this place that could help.__"_

"_A rehab? No thanks. Listen, Mark, you're a really great guy so I'm going to tell you now that I don't have a drug problem. That smack that I bought, in the park, that's not for me.__"_ Tammy chuckled hollowly._ "__I know that seems like something a druggie would say, but you've got to believe me when I say that I'm not like that. Not after what happened… You know what? Forget me. Forget everything.__"_

"Does she look as truthful as she sounds?" Mark questioned.

Roger squinted, his green eyes focusing on the woman's own shimmering green ones. It never seemed to Roger that he would actually _look_ at somebody and be able to tell if they're telling the truth. Still, something about how this woman looked -albeit the image was crooked because Mark's camera was around his shoulder- she looked truthful.

"Roger?"

"She's telling the truth." Roger said back, voice soft.

"_It's for somebody else?__"_

Tammy got desperate, so she reached into her purse and pulled out a few dollar bills. _"__Here,__"_ she said, _"__at least take my share of the lunch. I'd hate for you to pay.__"_

Mark wasn't letting her get away that easy, though. _"What's wrong? Is it this Frank guy?"_ He grabbed her wrist gently and questioned, _"__Is it something he does?__"_

"She's crying." Roger whispered to Mark, absorbed in the film. "Why'd you grab her?"

Next to Roger, Mark shrugged. "I think… I don't know, bits and pieces are coming back to me but it's all scattered. She brought out this vibe…I had this feeling that something wasn't right. She looked too familiar…"

"You were trying to be a Good Samaritan." Roger frowned. _Good Samaritan's never go off well._

"I guess you could say that." Mark sighed. "So, what's happening now?"

"_Come on, Tammy. I'm not going to hurt you or anything, please. Let me help you.__" _Onscreen-Mark pleaded.

"_Please!_" Tammy yelled. Roger watched, his head tilted to get a better view of the slanted screen as Tammy broke free of Mark's grasp and rushed off into the street. _"__I don't want to drag you down with me!__"_

"_With you where?__"_

"Oh…" Mark whispered silently. "The bus."

Eyes flashing back to the footage, Roger watched as Tammy broke free of Mark's grasp and ran right into oncoming traffic. The screen went blue suddenly -Roger guessed it was the sky- as the sounds of screeching tires and a strangled scream filled the area. Then there was a silence… wracked sobs… heavy breathing…sobs…

"What happened?" Roger mumbled, more to himself than to Mark.

"_I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!__"_ Tammy's face covered the footage. _"Are you okay, Mark?"_

Onscreen was filled with a tight groan, the camera lifted and suddenly Roger was looking at the side of a New York City bus._ "__Zoom in,__"_ the heavy breathing continued as Roger recognized Mark's voice, cracked and shaky, _"__on what couldn't been…__"_

_He nearly got hit by a bus. He nearly got hit by a bus. He nearly got hit by a bus. He nearly got hit by a bus._

Roger's thoughts were a haze; he couldn't seem to get the words forming. Unknowingly, Roger's blank gaze had shifted over to Mark, who sat tense-still on the couch with his head bowed down in shame, almost as if Mark knew Roger was sizing him up.

"_What the hell were you thinking?__" _Tammy cried, voicing Roger's thought. She had tears streaking freely down her face and was holding her hand to her chest.

"_What were __you__ thinking?__" _Onscreen-Mark hissed back. _"__Who the hell runs in front of a bus! Didn't your mother ever tell you to look both ways before crossing the street? Jeez, you're forehead is bleeding…__"_

Tammy let out a hollow laugh._ "__Me? Mark, look at your arm.__"_

Roger's head shot back to Mark, who continued to slouch on the couch. "You seriously saved that girl?"

"Appears so…"

"Let me see." Roger reached over and carefully rolled up Mark's sleeve. "Holy shit… The doctor said that she had to pull some piece of gravel out of your arm but I thought you got knocked to the ground when you were mugged. Was this from that bus?"

"Yeah." Mark winced. "Shit, one month and it still hurts."

"It's probably because you just realized where you got it." Roger sighed; he quickly fetched a bag of ice. "Here, just keep some pressure on it for now."

"Thanks." Mark sighed pathetically. "What's happening now?"

"You're getting out of the street." Roger laughed at the rocky image. "Looks like you're running away from that bus driver."

"_Come on! Down this way!__"_ It appeared that Tammy was dragging Mark down the streets.

"_Wait!__"_ Onscreen-Mark questioned, _"__Where are we going? Would you slow down?__"_

"We're going to an alleyway." Mark said suddenly, his sightless eyes growing wider by the second. "Rog, I remember this now…"

"What?" Roger questioned eyes wide. "What is it?"

"Shit, man. I left her…"

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

_March 29th, 6:32 PM, Eastern Standard Time_

_Tammy looked behind her shoulder. "Just keep up, okay?" She let go of his hand. "Stay with me!"_

_At first Mark didn't know what to do. Should he go with her, a total stranger? Or should he just stop and watch her run away… It didn't even seem like an option to go back to the loft anymore, though, and Mark knew that he'd receive quite a speech from Roger and Collins once he got back, but, for once, Mark didn't seem to care. There was just something in Tammy's eyes that screamed the need for help._

_The need to be wanted._

_Mark understood that. Roger, Benny, and Collins saved him from it when he first moved to the city._

"_Where are we going?" Mark questioned. He pumped his arms at his side and slowly fell in step with her fast pace, breath hanging on to each bout of air that his lungs seemed to cling to. "How did you learn to run like this?"_

"_I had to learn," Tammy whispered. "Not here, Mark. I'll tell you in a second, okay?"_

_There was nothing to do but obey and follow. All Mark knew was that his limbs were burning immensely and there was nothing to do about it, plus his arm, which he had just scraped, wasn't doing any better. To make matters worse, Mark kept thinking of what he was going to tell the rest of his friends about what had happened._

"_Come on." Tammy sighed. She led him down a dark alley and shoved him behind a large green dumpster. "Okay, look here," she pointed to a small, dirt caked window that was hidden behind a heavy green dumpster._

_Mark blinked. "You can't be serious."_

"_Look, you could've left before when I ran into the street, but you didn't. You could've easily ran the other way when I let go of you wrist, but you didn't. Now this time isn't going to be any different. Follow me now and I'll tell you everything, but if you decide not to then I won't hold that against you either," Tammy whispered, looking up every few seconds as if to see if anybody was following. "Look, you didn't pick the safest person to hang out with-"_

"_Yeah, that happens a lot." Mark mumbled, thinking of his three HIV friends, the dark-skinned lawyer, and the rebellious diva. "So I just slip in there and wait for you? You know it would be easier if we just talk in a bar or dinner or something."_

"_No," Tammy sighed, "if you listen to me when we get in here you'll understand why we have to stay."_

"_Okay," Mark gestured to the widow, "lead the way, my good woman."_

_Rolling her eyes, Tammy heaved another sigh, her eyes widening and looking into Mark as if she was studying his very core. "Why didn't you just let me get hit by that bus? It would've done us better than what is about to happen."_

"_Just being a Good Samaritan." Mark sighed, helping her move the dumpster out of the way._

_Tammy sighed, she took searched her brown crown for a hair clip and undid the lock with practiced ease. "You should know that, in the end, the so-called Good Samaritan is the one who pays for everything."_

"_I'll take my chances." Mark slipped through the window first, barely fitting, even with his scrawny body. He watched with worried eyes as Tammy climbed down after him, her holey-shoes tearing at the heel as she slipped down onto the large box. "Where the hell are we?" he questioned as she turned to face him._

"_This, Mark, would be my home."_

_Mark looked around. It was easily some sort of basement, to what; Mark didn't think he wanted to know. Squinting slightly through the darkness and cocking his head so that his ear was facing the ceiling above, Mark listened to the muffled voices above- not that there was a point in eavesdropping if Mark couldn't even make out a word of it. He sighed softly and turned his attention back to his surroundings: a tattered couch, even more ripped than the loft's duct-taped one, a small side table, a mini-fridge, and a frail blue thing masquerading as a carpet._

"_It's no much, is it?" Tammy sighed as she moved over to the lone fridge by the arm of the couch. "Do you want something to drink? I don't have any liquor but there's some bottled water in there."_

"_No thanks." Mark sighed; he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Now, when Mark compared the loft to Tammy's home, it made the loft feel like a million-dollar suite. "An explanation would be nice."_

"_What's there to say?" Tammy sighed, chugging her water before plopping lazily down on the couch._

_Mark settled down on a lone cardboard box filled with, what Mark guessed was, clothes. "Try with the beginning."_

"_All right. Well, what I told you about me dropping out of Brown… erm, what else? Okay, let's see, I told you that I'm a photographer and that I basically abandoned my parents. After the big falling-out with my parents I escaped to come here to New York City to stay with my sister and that's how I met- Oh shit! Frank!"_

_Mark recoiled; Tammy's tone change from calm to fearful scared him. "What's wrong?"_

"_Tammy! Tammy!" Voice clattered from upstairs and soon the door near the staircases began to rattle. "Damn it! What the hell are you hiding down there? Get your pretty ass up here now! You're late!"_

"_Frank?" Mark whispered, afraid that even the slightest noise would call attention to the stranger above. However, the question wasn't even necessary as the fear in Tammy's green eyes shone through Mark._

"_Leave! Leave, now!" Tammy hissed, jumping frantically from the couch and rushing towards the window. "Get out! Get out before he sees you and kills you!"_

"_TAMMY! OPEN THIS DOOR BEFORE I BLOW IT OFF THE HINGES!"_

"_Hide!" Tammy wailed, already rushing up the stairs to unlock the door. "Hide and don't make a sound! No matter what, okay? Don't make a sound!"_

"_But…" Mark only shook his head. The basement was dark enough, maybe he could hide. It would be a long shot, but, still, Mark ducked behind the mount of cardboard boxes before carefully looking between tem up to where Tammy was standing by the rattling door. She shot him the most truthful apologizing look she could muster. Mark knew better than that though. It was just like she said: In the end, the so-called Good Samaritan is the one who pays for everything…_

_Blue eyes widened. Down the stairs came the druggie that Mark had been worrying about._

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

The camera cut off. Static bursting through the duo's ears.

"How could I forget?" Mark whimpered, blinking back tears. "How could I forget her like that? I just left her to him and for one month she's still there!"

Roger blinked. The footage, along with Mark's tale, still didn't make sense to him- hell, it wasn't even from the day Roger had realized Mark had gone missing! He guessed it wasn't really hard to believe though…

After all these years.

After all those drugs.

After all that shit.

It had to be Frankie, Roger's old band mate.

After never seeing her for _years._

After leaving her alone.

After everything he left her with.

It had to be April's sister, Tammy Carson.


	11. Faltered Façade

**Chapter Eleven: Faltered Façade**

Maureen pouted as she obediently followed her four bohemian friends onto the wet streets of New York City. She puffed her chest out and childishly folded her arms annoyingly. "I thought we were going to get some ice cream!" she finally exclaimed, unable to keep her enthusiasm down after walking just a few blocks away from the loft. "Nobody said anything about picking up Blink and going to the Life…"

"You like the dog." Benny rolled his eyes, shaking his head and causing raindrops to fly. "You boughtthe dog. What's wrong with it?"

Maureen looked to the wet, fluffy brown mess in Collins' arms and immediately gushed over the large brown eyes looking at her expectantly. She patted Blink's head and replied, "Nothing's wrong with the dog." She pouted again as Benny glared. "Jeez, what's your problem? I was just asking. We _always _go to the Life Café. I was excited about doing something different."

"You were just-"

"Calm down Benny." Mimi placed a delicate hand on Benny's shoulder before looking to Maureen and saying, "We can go get ice cream later, if you want. It's nearly dinnertime and we should really eat a meal first, besides," Mimi chuckled as she shivered in the April rain, "it's pretty cold right now."

Grinning, Maureen smiled to Mimi and thanked her before turning to Benny. "See? Was that so hard to do?"

Mimi turned quickly to stifle the laugh climbing up her throat, Benny bit his tongue from saying anything to the diva, Joanne slapped her girlfriend unhappily, and Collins continued to walk. Nothing was processing in the professor's mind; everything just seemed to be in a haze ever since Mark's confession to him. Hell, it was a good question though. Did they really rely on Mark so much that Mark didn't think about taking care of himself? Sure he helped Roger with his HIV, helped Mimi whenever she need solace, helped Joanne and Maureen respectfully after all of their fights, and helped Collins through Angel's death…

_Crash_

Lightning and thunder tore though the sky. It all seemed so surreal.

A simple lick from Blink, who climbed his shoulders restlessly, brought Collins from his thoughts. He heaved a long sigh and shook himself back to the present just in time to listen in on another one of Maureen and Joanne's arguments. Careening his neck sideway, Collins breathed another sigh at the sight before him. He hadn't noticed they'd stopped walking.

The streets were practically empty, aside from the various homeless people camping out on the stoops trying to escape the pounding rain, and for that small detail Collins was thankful for some kind of relief in the situation. Maureen and Joanne stood in the middle of the sidewalk, faces inches apart as they yelled about Maureen being an "_ungrateful, unforgivable, arguing idiot" _and Joanne being an _"annoying dolt"_.

"It's not my fault he's such a bastard!" Maureen yelled, pointing to Benny but not taking her eyes off Joanne.

Joanne shot back, "He didn't even do anything!"

"He looked at me funny!"

"Guys, don't fight," Mimi tried uselessly, innocently keeping her distance.

"It's really okay, Joanne," Benny said. "There's nothing wrong."

"Like hell!" Maureen shouted, finally tearing away from Joanne and turning to glare at him. "You're the one that started this whole argument!"

Mimi's eyes flared. "There wouldn't be an argument if we could just get along!"

"Are you saying it's our fault?" Joanne demanded. "We're not the only ones yelling!"

"Don't yell at her," Benny growled, pushing Mimi back from their argument. "She didn't do anything."

"I can take care of myself!" Mimi said.

Memories came back. Damned memories from Halloween.

When they said goodbye…

It's not goodbye though, not anymore. Maureen and Joanne reconciled their differences and a month later Roger came back to the city to apologize to Mimi. Everything was fine. Everything _was_ fine. They'd had their guardian angel helping them along the way, yet in the process they'd forgotten their other guardian. The one, who, long ago, helped Maureen with her protests, pushed Roger through his withdrawal, helped Collins become happy with MIT, calmed Benny from the loneliness of New York City…

How had he become just a blur in the background?

And, with that thought, Collins began wondering if the same thing would've happened to Angel. Mark had been with them and over the years they had started taking his presence for granted, they all just got used to the fact that Mark cared about them more than he did himself. Would that have happened to Angel if she didn't die? Would Collins let that happen?

Some things just made sense now.

Give Mark relief.

Help Mark like he tries to help you.

Do something to keep this family together.

Blink yipped happily and that was all the confirmation Collins needed as he patted the dog's head happily. The dog was just a subtle reminder that other people could help the bohemian family. Even Blink understood something that was in front of their eyes the whole entire time. Blink truly was the "perfect gift".

Zoning back in on the fighting, Collins found himself shaking his head pathetically. He squared his shoulders and walked slowly and confidently towards the four feuding bohemians.

"She wouldn't be yelling if you didn't go hectic after every suggestion we make!" Mimi was shouting to Maureen, talking of Joanne.

"That's not my fault!" Maureen spat. "You can't expect me to stay quiet for suggestions! That's why they're called _suggestions_. I'm just trying to help out too!" She stomped her foot affectionately onto the ground and only caused muddy water to splash onto Benny.

"Well, you're not!" Benny spoke up, wiping water from his coat. "Jeezus, woman, you give such a headache."

"Thanks, sellout!"

_Ruff!_ Blink barked angrily, _Ruff! Ruff!_

_CRASH!_

The thunder grew louder.

Eyes turned, finally aware of the anarchist's presence.

"What the hell are we doing?" Collins questioned, pushing Joanne and Maureen away from each other. He shoved Blink carefully into Mimi's arms and quickly folded his over his chest. "Well? Anybody got an answer?" Everybody looked away, embarrassed. "I sure as hell didn't think so."

"Collins-"

"Don't you _Collins_ me," Collins said sternly, cutting off Maureen. "You call yourselves friends? Well I have news for you! _Friends_ do not find an argument over petty subjects every few seconds. _Friends_ don't throw their shit into other people's laps. _Friends _understand each other and try to help each other. _Friends _are our _family._ Is this what family means to you?

"After everything we went through in December, I figured we'd all learned something. Learned about love? Learned about keeping your friends close to your heart? What happened to _friendship is thicker then blood_? We all agreed on that notion. Don't tell me that you've forgotten already. Or do we just mean that little?

"Don't let this family die, because it sure as hell seems like you're willing to."

The silence after Collins' words hurt.

_Would they really let this family die?_

"I'm sorry, Maureen," Benny sighed finally, hand scratching the back of his neck uselessly. "I didn't mean what I said."

Collins breathed a sigh. Benny was not one for easy apologies.

"I'm sorry too. You're not a sellout…anymore," Maureen smiled before inching her way back toward Joanne to trap her in a comforting hug. "Pookie and I may have our arguments but we don't stay mad at each other forever."

"Sorry, honey bear," Joanne smiled, returning the hug.

However, Mimi seemed to be the only one to understand the full length of what Collins had said. "But what if we did?" she questioned, plunking down on one of the lone black benches on the sidewalk, looking out into the empty street blankly.

"What if we did, what?" Maureen questioned, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What do you mean, Meems?"

Joanne's brain clicked instantly. "What if we let this family die?"

"That's not happening." Benny replied quietly, his voice soft as he sat next to Mimi on the bench. He ruffled Blink's fur confidently and said, "We won't let it happen."

"You don't know that." Mimi said. "Collins is right. We nearly broke apart four months ago and now we're doing the same thing, except this time it's taking down Mark first. Last time it was me and Roger-"

"Wait." Maureen stuttered. "I-I don't get it, Meems. We didn't do anything to Marky."

Mimi patted Blink's head inertly. "We didn't do anything to Mark, and that's what hurt him most of all."

Maureen opened her mouth to protest but Collins beat her to the punch. "Don't you see, Maureen? Mark's the one sparing his feeling for us…"

"He doesn't open up." Maureen defended herself, "He knows we're here for him."

"Does he?" Benny tried. "Mark's not one to ask for help. He helps the people around him, and if he feels as if he's doing something wrong, even if it's something he couldn't change, he'll call himself a failure. Mark doesn't allow himself to fail his friends."

Maureen faltered.

_Good, _Collins thought to himself. _They understand._

"Mark forgets about himself," Collins said, making sure that it would stick in everybody's head. After seven years even Roger understood it now, and, for now, Collins was going to make sure the rest of their family would. "He's caught in dealing with our problems that when he thinks about himself, even if it's just for a second, he'll think he's being selfish. But that's the problem. We don't realize that he's being selfless because we're too busy brining all of our problems to him. He pushes his emotions aside for us."

Maureen whispered, clinging tighter to Joanne. "How could we miss something that's been in front of us the whole time?"

A small silence before-

"Because you're dense- Shit, Maureen!" Benny recoiled from the slap on his shoulder and turned to glare. "What the hell?"

The glare met shimmering brown eyes as Maureen tossed her head back and laughed into the New York City wind. Soon Benny was smiling and stifling down his own bout of laughter. Mimi took her turn to giggle as Joanne joined in happily and Blink barked animatedly.

Collins watched from the sidelines, a satisfied smile forming on his face, and even through the dark clouds forming overhead, Collins believed his thoughts. He believed there was a way to stay together.

There was no way he'd let his family die.

Maureen turned on her heels. "I'll talk to my Marky. It's the least I can-"

"No," Benny took her shoulder. "Roger is with him right now. Let them talk."

"But I-"

"Maureen," Mimi whispered, "they need to work things out first."

Opening her mouth to argue, Maureen shook her head and decided against starting up another argument with her friends. She turned back towards where they were originally going and smiled. "Ready to head to the Life?" Maureen questioned. "I really am hungry for a cheeseburger."

"My treat." Benny smirked.

"As if I'd reject that offer." Maureen giggled, linking her arm with Benny and dragging him down the street at a fast run. "Come on! The faster we eat, the faster Benny treats us to ice cream!" The diva chewed her lips thoughtfully and added, "We won't fail Mark this time."

Joanne smiled as she ran after them.

"You okay?" Collins questioned Mimi, smiling as he listened to the laughter in the distance.

"I'm magnificent now." Mimi let out a tight sigh as she hauled herself off the bench and pecked Collins on the cheek. "Ready to go?"

Collins patted Blink's head, the dog panting excitedly from the cold. "You go on. I know Mark and Roger need their time alone to talk about a few things, but-"

"Three's a charm." Mimi replied, smiling. "You want to take Blink?"

Collins smirked. "Nah. He'll watch over the three of you."

"Thanks." Mimi rolled her eyes before starting off towards the Life Café. She stopped suddenly-

"Something wrong?" Collins questioned.

"You know," Mimi whispered, "in more then one way you're the glue too."

"Hey, I'm not one to hog the glory." Collins chuckled. "We all hold this family together somehow. Some more than others."

Mimi only smiled as she bobbed her head in agreement. Sometimes it was hard to forget that she was only twenty years old. She turned to head back towards the Life Café but stopped in her tracks to see Benny, Maureen, and Joanne a few long strides away, waiting.

"COME ON MIMI!" Maureen yelled energetically.

"Coming!" Mimi giggled happily as she tightened her grip on Blink before racing off down the sidewalk, splashing rain water as she ran to catch up with her three friends.

_Ruff! Ruff! _Blink's barks echoed through the stormy city.

A little light in all the dark.

Collins waited on the sidewalk a few minutes, waiting until the four bohemians were out of sight before turning on his heel and heading back up to the loft. Hopefully Mark and Roger wouldn't mind the company. Walking the few blocks toward the street, Collins skipped casually up the stairs toward the desired loft. He was happy to find the sliding door unlocked and quickly cracked the door open slightly, so as not to startle his friends if they were caught up in a conversation. They were watching Mark's footage though, that much Collins knew. Collins knew it wasn't his place, but he couldn't help it, he slid the door open slightly and peeked through…

He watched the scene unfold before him, slowly at first as if every movement Roger and Mark made would cost them their lives. The filmmaker sat on the couch in the living room, eyes staring blankly ahead of him -Collins guess he was looking at the projector screen- and Roger sat next to him, their shoulders touching; his whole body tense. Behind them the lightning continued animatedly, rain splashing harder and faster on to the window behind them. However, the duo didn't seem to notice, for whatever was on the projector was scaring the shit out of both of them.

_Could it have been that bad?_ Collins asked himself.

Mark was the first to speak- mumble more like. His hand flew to his mouth; "Oh, shit…" before he flung himself off the couch as if he had just jumped off of a diving board. The filmmaker moved with less grace then Collins could imagine a visually impaired person could do, maneuvering expertly around the coffee table, careful not to trip over the carpet, and pushing himself into the middle door.

"Mark!" Collins watched as Roger flew after his best friend, hair flying behind him as he disappeared into the bathroom.

_Maybe things could be _that_ bad…_

Slipping into the loft quietly, Collins slid the loft door shut before locking it quickly. He went to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water and two tablets of the headache medicine Doctor Crow had supplied.

_Fabulous,_ Collins sighed loudly as he wandered into the bathroom and took in the site before him. Mark on his knees hunched over the toilet throwing his stomach contents -which was probably mostly bile and some of Mimi's chicken noodle soup- as Roger knelt down next to him, rubbing his back and whispering soothing words into the filmmaker's ear. The musician looked up at the sound of Collins' sigh and gave a wane smile at his presence before turning his attention back to Mark.

_Glad to see he's at least doing better. _Collins thought, smirking as Roger brought a hand to smooth Mark's hair away from his forehead. He knelt down on the other side of Mark and leaned exhaustedly against the bathtub, waiting for the tremors to pass.

Mark muttered to himself, heaving one last time before breaking into a coughing fit that sent him doubling over so far down that Roger had to grab him before he could hit his head on the porcelain seat.

"It's okay." Roger whispered as he rubbed more small circles on the filmmaker's back. "You're doing fine. Do you hear me?"

Collins watched through squinted eyes as the filmmaker settled down and wiped his face fiercely. Sniffling, Mark laughed hollowly. "What's your definition of fine?" Mark tilted his head in Collin's direction and frowned, "Collins?"

"Yeah, boy." Collins replied, ruffling Mark's hair. "I figured you two would need some company."

"Oh, yeah." Mark muttered, as he fell into a sitting position with his legs curled up to his chest. He held his stomach slightly and gently rocked back and forth. "Terrific timing if you have to settle to watch me throw away my lunch."

"Mm-hmm." Collins nodded absently, signaling Roger to flush the toilet as he stuffed the glass and tablets into Mark's hands. "Here," he said. "Those should help your stomach."

"Come on, we can clean this later." Roger muttered, helping Mark to his feet. "Are you okay now?"

"I'm not going to throw up, if that's what you mean." Mark replied blankly, blindly climbing to his feet.

"That'll do it." Collins frowned, taking Mark's other arm and helping lead him into the living room before plopping his silently on the couch. "Hang out here." Collins said to Mark before quickly grabbing Roger's arm and pulling him into the kitchen.

Roger ran a hand through his hair, pacing. "Thomas…"

"What the hell happened?"

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

_October 5th, 10:00 AM, Eastern Standard Time. _

_Twenty days before April's death._

_The filmmaker pushed his way through the throng of people crowded around the small stage, his camera held firmly to his eye as he trailed on the pretty boy front man, Roger Davis. Grinning as the man caught his eye and winked, Mark waved to his best friend. The bar reeked of vomit and sweat however, and soon Mark was regretting taking the offer to stay late to film the Well Hungarian's performance._

"_Watch it!" One drunkard yelled, shoving Mark to the side causing the smaller blond to fall. "Move out of the way!"_

_Seeing stars, Mark groped the floor annoyingly as he searched for his glasses, knocked off from the fall. They'd been right in front of him just a few moments ago…_

"_Hands off, bub!"_

_Nope, that was a foot._

"_Whoa!" Crap. This one was a foot. Hairy, yet a bit friendlier. "Hey, cutie. The party is up here."_

_Mark gulped down the breath he hadn't realize he was holding and staggered away quickly from the drunk drag queen. Not that it was much of a thrill to be caught up in the rest of the drunk, violent crowd. Fastening his camera strap securely around his shoulder, Mark pushed himself to his feet and swayed against the sight in front of his eyes. He sure as hell needed his glasses, especially now. He blinked his eyes rapidly against the swaying shapes and multi-colors, trying to grasp the situation as his temple began to pound-_

"_Here!" A hand came out quickly to grab his wrist. "Hurry up!" Not wanting to argue, Mark frowned and allowed himself to be drug from the crowd. He squinted into the darkness. "Sorry 'bout that," the voice chuckled, "but you looked like you were having a bit of trouble in there."_

"_Yeah." Mark swallowed. "Sure can be brutal, can't they?"_

"_Stupid drunks."_

"_Yeah," Mark chuckled. He rubbed his temple and questioned, "Who are you?"_

"_Oh!" The suddenly clear feminine voice squeaked. "I'm so sorry. My name is Tammy." She delicately placed Mark's black-rimmed frames on his face and her radiant smile became clear. "Tammy Carson."_

"_Mark Cohen." They shook hands cordially and exchanged shy smiles. "Carson, huh? Any relation to an April?"_

"_Hmmm…" Tammy drummed her fingers against her chin, deep in faux thought. "Fiery red hair and temper?"_

_Mark laughed. "That'd be the one."_

"_Yeah." She pointed to the stage, directly at Roger. "That's her boyfriend, right there. His name is-"_

"_Roger Davis." Mark finished. "I'm his roommate. Funny, Roger and April have been dating three months and she never mentioned having a sister."_

"_Yeah." Tammy laughed. "Well, I would be the odd one in her eyes. Who would've thought? Her baby sister finishing high school. Not that it mattered; I dropped out of college a few weeks ago. Brown University, actually."_

"_Really?" Mark's eyes widened excitedly. "I dropped out of Brown too! Didn't even last a whole week before I came here to be a filmmaker about three years ago. What about you?"_

"_Photographer." Tammy explained. "April and I met up again last night and now I'm going to be living with her."_

_Mark's stomach fluttered happily. "Cool. So what-"_

"_MARK!" Roger's voice boomed through the club and soon the bleached-blond hair musician was pushing himself through the crowd, his fender held tightly in his hand. "What the hell happened out there? I saw you fall down but you never got up. I was going to see if you were all right but Frank gave me this look…Asshole, you know how he is…" He stopped suddenly, clasping Mark on the back. "Well, who's your friend?"_

"_Tammy Carson." Tammy gave a small wave, flipping her brown hair back. "I'm April's sister."_

_Roger smirked. "April told me this morning. It's nice to meet you." He winked to Mark and shoved his side. "I see you two already met."_

_Mark rolled his eyes but smiled as he saw that Tammy had the decency to blush with him. He replied, "She saved me from the crowd."_

"_TAMMY!" A fiery red blur brushed past Mark and Roger as April flung herself at her sister. "I thought I told you to wait for me at the apartment." Smacking her red lips happily, April turned to the two boys and said, "Guess introductions are done?"_

"_Yeah." Roger nodded, snaking his hand around April's waist and bringing her close to him. "So, what about dinner? Call it a double date?" _

_April's eyes widened. "Double date?" She looked between Mark and Tammy happily. "Really, now?"_

_This time they both blushed._

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Licking his suddenly chapped lips, Mark knelt forward slowly and carefully placed his head in his hands as he angrily rubbed his temple against the oncoming headache. Whatever pills Collins had given him sure were taking a long time to work. Mark sighed as he dug his fingers deeper into his hair, surprised if there wasn't a bruise already forming, as he tried to zone his ears out of the two men's quiet conversation in the kitchen. Damn… it was hard enough to hear the cold hard truth on film, Mark just didn't want to hear Roger confirm it and repeat it to Collins.

April's sister, Tammy Carson? How the hell had that happened?

"You remember how it went, Thomas." Roger hissed quietly, unaware that Mark could hear his every word. "She just disappeared! You and Mark looked for her and said that she probably just went back home or back to… I don't know… We didn't know where she was-"

"Calm down," Collins said. "There's no need to get upset. Did you watch the rest of the footage?"

"We were about to." Roger replied. "Damn, man. How could we not see this coming?"

Mark heard Collins sigh. "Out of all the things in the world, Roger, would you really think this was what happened to Mark? Hell, you haven't seen Tammy and this asshole in four years. You only met Tammy once! That doesn't make this a situation to place guilt on yourself or Mark-"

"Why the hell would I blame Mark?" Roger hissed. "He sure as hell couldn't have known."

_At least he's defending me. That's something._

"It's not Mark's fault." Collins said, still calm. "We need to see the rest of this footage."

Mark's brain clicked. _Oh, shit…_

"That would work," Mark spoke up, surprised at how cracked his voice was, "but you should know that the rest of the footage is gone."

"Dammit." Collins was trying the projector. "He's right. There's nothing on here."

Roger's shadowed-form was at his side in an instant. "You remember?"

"Oh, sure." Mark ran a weary hand across his face. "Hell of a time to get my memory back. One month and she's still there. We have to do something-" he began to get up but strong hands held his shoulders down firmly, plopping him back onto the couch. He squint through the darkness and frowned, "Collins-"

"Somebody has to think rationally here." Collins said sternly. "Judging by what Roger said, what you have on camera is good evidence. We need to get Tammy, sure, but how the hell do suppose we do that?"

Mark sunk into the cushion, defeated.

"We can't just sit here!" Roger yelled, not giving in. "You heard Mark! She's down there with a druggie. It's been four years!"

Collins fumed, "Don't stand there and tell me you want to barge in on a druggie. He's dangerous."

"That's not-" Roger started, but Mark cut in.

"Hell, he's got a gun."

Mark was silently aware as two pairs of eyes turned towards him swiftly, and immediately he regretted sharing the detail. He just didn't want Roger walking into something so dangerous.

Roger said, "What? What gun?"

Mark shuddered. The memory came back full force.

"Mark?" Roger placed his hands on his shoulder. "Mark, what gun are you talking about?"

"Shit," Collins whispered, "boy, we need the _whole _story."

"Mark…" Roger's voice, barely a whisper. A finger brought his chin up, visually impaired blue eyes meeting piercing green orbs. "Remember what we talking about? I'm not going anywhere. I'm not letting your emotions drown you. Tell me what gun, Mark."

"The gun he stuck down my throat…"


	12. Flashing Back

**Chapter Twelve: Flashing Back**

March 29th, 7:20 PM, Eastern Standard Time

"Frank, wait! I'm…"

"What the hell is this? You arrive at least two and a half hours late and I've got damaged goods! Do you see this? Do you? There's a _hole_ in the bottom. That's dollars we'll never see again."

"I'll go out and buy some more-"

"Tell yourself that. You're not leaving."

Mark cringed as his body squeezed closer together as he huddled further away from the scene in front of him and hid behind the boxes, careful not to make any noise as to give away his position. There was a skull-shattering sound of flesh upon flesh and Mark peeked between the boxes just in time to see Tammy fly to the floor. Frank stood above her, eyes dilated beyond belief and clothes cut up from many scuffles, his jaw fixated in a tight frown as he hovered above the woman. A kick to the side and Tammy wailed.

"Get up! Get up!" Frank yelled; spit drawing out of his mouth. Mark guessed the man was drunk. "Don't be so lazy." He leaned down beside her frail body and kicked her absently. The smirk on his face made Mark bite his tongue from yelling out, Frank drew a finger out and tilted Tammy's chin to face him. "You're lucky I think you're too hot to kill." Tammy looked away and Frank gripped her chin tightly. "Aren't you lucky?"

Tammy nodded, reluctantly. "Yeah, Frank. I'm lucky."

"You're lucky." Now he was just playing. "And why are you lucky?"

"I'm lucky you're taking care of me so well," Tammy spit out a wad of blood, grateful that Frank didn't seem to notice her lack of respect in their present situation, "and I'm lucky you took me in."

"Good." He slapped her cheek lightly. Tauntingly, more like. He stood up and stretched, staggering so much in his drunken stupor Mark was amazed the man was even able to piece out coherent thought -albeit, not good thoughts. "Stay here. I know where The Man is and he owes me a favor for not getting him thrown his jail last night when I had the chance."

"Stay here?" Tammy uttered, eyes involuntarily flashing in Mark's direction. "What do you mean stay? Frank!" She struggled to her feet and watched with frightened eyes as she ran to the base of the staircase where she could see his fleeing form. "I've got to get some dinner! What about lunch?"

"Nuh-uh." Frank waved a finger tauntingly as another smirk crawled up his face. "See, before I came down here I moved that lock down over the window so you wouldn't be able to get out. Don't even try to break the glass; we've got plans for you soon."

"Frank, come on!" Tammy yelled, tears running down her cheeks. "FRANK! You can't leave me in here forever!" The door of the basement closed and Tammy immediately fell to her knees, drawing her legs to her chest protectively. "Shit…"

For a moment Mark couldn't even move, couldn't even comprehend the fact that he was stuck in a basement with a girl he could only consider a stranger. He pushed his camera away and released his legs from their fetal position before stretching his legs out in front of him and taking a deep sigh. All form of thought escaped his brain in that instant. Quickly, Mark closed his eyes and wrapped his hands together in deep thought

"This can't be happening…"

Eyes shooting open, Mark turned his head to focus on the raging form that was Tammy. Her brown hair whipped crazily around her quick form as she bolted from her position on the floor, fast for somebody who had just been kicked in the side at least five times, and Tammy stalked across the basement to the window. She let out a string of profanities as her shaky hands gripped the handle of the pane and struggled to open it from its lock.

"NO!" Tammy wailed, one last cry as she banged her fists against the window, not even denting the glass. She pushed herself off the wall and broke down to the ground. "Mark… I'm so sorry. It's my fault… all my fault…"

Mark shook his head absently, foolishly forgetting he was still hidden behind the boxes. Carefully, Mark crawled from his hiding place and moved toward the window where the broken woman was sitting. "How is this your fault?" Mark questioned, placing a delicate hand on her shoulder. "The way I see it, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm the one who followed you. I'm the one who kept you from getting here on time. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. You didn't _know_." Tammy sniffled, her hand moving to cover up Mark's hand. "I shouldn't-"

"No," Mark whispered, his hand moving out from Tammy's and covering it as he held it out in front of her. "You shoulda, woulda, coulda. It doesn't matter anymore, now does it? We're both in this together, whether we like it or not."

"Doesn't make it fair," Tammy muttered, burying her face into her knees.

"No, it doesn't," Mark whispered, "but it's what we'll work with." He patted her hand once more before clearing his throat and saying, "Come on, we'll figure something out. He's drunk, right?"

"He's going to The Man for some smack so there's a good chance he won't be back until tomorrow afternoon, maybe 12 PM at the earliest. He's usually sleeping off a hangover…"

"Ok, good." They stood up shakily and moved to the back wall, just underneath the window, to lean against the gray concrete. "Do you feel all right?"

"No. We're locked in-"

"Your side. Does you side feel all right?"

"It's fine. Not too bad, I've had worse."

"How worse?" Mark questioned, unable to bring himself to say how _worse_ was worse.

"Not _that_ bad. Usually it's just a few slaps in the face and a good kick in the side." Tammy massaged her side, grunting against the pain. "Not too bad, considering."

Mark sighed slightly as they moved near each other and fought off the cold of the basement with body heat.

"Are you okay?" She questioned, her hand moving through his hair hesitatingly. "Considering how cold it is in here, you're burning up."

"I'm fine. Just tired. It's been a long day."

"Bull. You're burning up." Tammy placed a hand to his forehead and whispered, "Go to sleep. It's almost 8 PM and we've still got plenty of time."

"We'll figure this out together," Mark whispered, eyes drooping.

"Yeah…"

"Happy birthday, Tammy."

XXXXXXXX

With a slight jerk, Mark awoke suddenly as a loud crash above him resounded through the room. Thunder rumbled outside and suddenly Mark was very aware of his surroundings. He turned his head to the side and found that Tammy, having abandoned her sitting arrangement, was now lying comfortably in a cat-like position with her back to the wall, sleeping peacefully. Not wanting to wake her with his movements, Mark quietly picked himself off the wall and turned to study their surroundings more, his mind calculating ideas of what they were going to do.

Mark cursed his watch; he knew Roger and Mimi were probably at the loft sleeping off their last night together. He knew they'd been hanging out with Collins all night, hell he'd been invited to dinner on Collins' bill for takeout but Mark had declined because he'd wanted to search the city for a new documentary idea, now he wasn't so sure.

Fortunately, Mark's headache had swelled down to a descent nuisance instead of the throbbing menace. He chewed his lip gingerly and peeked at the sleeping form of Tammy before squaring his shoulders and looking around. The basement was frigid, Mark shivered and pulled his corduroy jacket closer to his body, he kicked the weak concrete drawing up some dust before coughing lightly. He walked to the chipped plaster lining the walls and scratched at it, the white peeling off before Mark stopped and wiped his hand on his pants.

The room was dark though, a garbage dumpster had situated itself in front of the window - Mark didn't want to know who did that - and the little light that had peeked through the window had left. Mark quickly grabbed his camera bag and ruffled through it to grab a flashlight -he'd kept it on him occasionally for times he'd wandered into dark alleys and tunnels, though, considering how dangerous Alphabet City was, there wasn't many times he'd used it. He flicked the flashlight on, shaking it slightly before finally seeing the light, and whipped it towards the tiny couch, mini-fridge, and side table.

Tammy's current living situation.

First Mark went for the fridge, opening it and poking his head in to look at the scarce contents of three warm water bottles and a half-empty box of saltine crackers. Shaking his head disgustedly, Mark shut the door and moved to the wooden side table, he opened the drawer and found it empty besides a small black book that held numerous black and white pictures; on top of the table laid a set of keys. Next was the couch, duct taped like the loft's but this one a bit rattier and beer-stained.

_Damn it… _Mark let out a slight huff and flopped down onto the cushions, before he immediately jumped up.

He'd sat on something.

Mark glanced at the couch with an arched eyebrow, half-expecting it to grow an extra head and legs to beat him with its cushions. Cursing himself for having such a stupid thought, Mark crouched down in front of the couch and carefully peeled off the cushions-

"What in the hell…?"

A picture. Two women, one brown haired girl, that was obviously Tammy, was grinning brightly at however was behind the camera and her arm was swung around another person, slightly taller and probably a few years older. A familiar woman. Fiery red hair, bright red lips, and green eyes. The same green eyes as Tammy, the same haircut, the same bone structure-

April.

Mark whispered a curse, a finger running across the glass. He hadn't seen April in a long time, for when Roger was going through withdrawal after her death he went into a rage and burned all of her pictures. The only thing Mark had left had been footages, but it hurt too much to look at.

"My sister." The voice made Mark's head whip back to Tammy, very much awake and now standing with her back still leaning heavily against the wall. "I came to New York City about four years ago, when I was eighteen, and I came to live with her but she-"

"Holy shit." Mark cut off her words, suddenly looking at Tammy in a new light. "You're a photographer and dropout of Brown University."

"Yeah. I told you that."

"April, she committed suicide because she thought she had AIDS but she didn't, she had HIV, the onset of AIDS. Right? Her boyfriend was Roger Davis and he was the front man for the Well Hungarians. You met him at a bar the day after meeting up with April-"

"Either we've met or you're good at this game."

"Four years ago. In October. Remember? I got scrambled in the crowd when my glasses fell off…"

Tammy's eyes widened. "Mark! Mark Cohen! Oh my… I can not believe it's actually you! After the funeral you gave me your phone number-"

"I said if you needed anything I'd help you." Mark nodded. "You needed help, Tammy. What happened?"

"I went back home to spend some time with my mother and father, I thought they'd be mourning after April's death because they didn't come down to the city for the funeral. They weren't. My father told me April got what she deserved and I came back in a few weeks to look for you and Roger." She hugged herself, shivering. "I needed help and I remembered your offer, but it had been so long ago, nearly half a year, and I lost your number and didn't know where you lived."

"We only met twice," Mark said, gesturing her to sit next to him on the couch. "There was no way you could've remembered."

"I looked, though, went to where we met but the bartender said the Well Hungarians broke up after Roger quit the band. Then I saw Frank…" She trailed off suddenly. "He was a druggie and I needed a place to live."

"What about _this_?" Mark questioned, wanting to get the whole story out so he could know what they were dealing with. "How long has this been going on?"

"Frank wasn't always a bad guy, you know? Like April and Roger, he had a drug problem, but his was a bit more advanced then there's was. We dated for a few months when I came back to the city, and he'd been in withdrawal for at least three weeks when I asked him to quit. He didn't want to go to a rehab; I didn't want to force him to go anywhere he didn't want to-"

"It's not easy handling a druggie by yourself." Mark nodded. "I handled Roger by myself most of the times my roommates were out but they were still there to help me. Roger made it; I'm guessing Frank wasn't too lucky."

Tammy shook her had. "He changed; he wasn't the man I knew anymore. I thought I really knew him, but he was more of a relief to me than anything else, something I had to cling to my sister's memory… Anyway, he went on this rage and got a buddy of his, Jimmy, to buy this place and he sends me out to buy drugs and get food and booze whenever he needed it."

"Why didn't you run?"

"To where? I'm not stupid, I could've gotten far before that bastard tracked me down. Look at me. After one year of being cooped up in this basement I'm malnourished and in no shape to handle two full-fledge druggies. The only way out of here is through the bar, which is crowded with other druggies, or through the window. I tried to escape once," she shuddered, "got out of the window and made it about three blocks before he caught me."

"What happened?"

Wordlessly, Tammy lifted her sleeve. "Cut me with a knife and took me to the hospital. I was so out of it, I couldn't say anything. He healed me to take me back here and you me as a servant. I've been here for nearly a whole year."

Mark wordlessly traced the red scar with his finger.

"They threaten me. Threaten to kill me; they claim to know where my family lives. I hate my family, but I don't want them dead. I may be stupid to believe that pack of shit, Mark, but I'm not going to ignore it. I'm not going to chance it… Not now…"

XXXXXXXX

"You're still a bit flushed. Are you all right?"

Mark shot her a small glare. "I'm fine. Just tired."

"Are you sure-"

"Drop it," Mark muttered as he moved towards the window and stood on a box to look through the dirty glass. He knew the dumpster was still obscuring his vision of the outside but there had to be something he could do to push the window out. Frank and Jimmy might be out there somewhere but they still had to take the chance to get away. "What time is it?"

"Almost 12 PM." Tammy sighed; tapping her watch to make sure it was working. "If I'm right then we've still got about a few minutes until Frank or Jimmy comes down here."

Mark cocked a brow and turned. "Why exactly would he come down here?" She gave him a look. "Ahhh… Well, we shouldn't worry about that until he's actually down here. Roger and Mimi are probably wondering where I am right now, assuming they actually got up this morning."

"Is this Mimi girl nice?" Tammy questioned suddenly, eyes averted. As they'd been searching the basement for another way out, Mark had taken the time to try and get Tammy's mind off the situation and told her about the Boho boys' present situation. "She sounds nice."

"She's good for Roger," Mark said, uncomfortable with the fact that he was basically telling Tammy that Roger had moved on from her sister. "He hasn't been this happy in a long time."

"I wish I could meet her." Tammy whispered, eyes getting a far off look. "I'd love to see Roger again, too. We only met that once, but he was so nice and very lively."

"You'll meet him." Mark smirked. "You'll meet all of them. You'll see." He grabbed the handle of the window and pulled it. "Here, help me." Tammy climbed onto a box next to him. "Okay, put your hand over mine and pull with me."

"All right."

"One…two….three… Now!"

Together, hands gripping onto the handle, Mark and Tammy pulled at the window with all their might but it did not budge.

"How the hell are we going to get out of here?" Tammy questioned, stopping suddenly as her breath came out in shallow gasps. "The window won't open and we can't go through the bar. We'd get caught by Jimmy or Frank."

Mark shook his head. "We have to break the window."

"Are you crazy? They'll hear us!" Tammy hissed. "It wouldn't work."

"We have to take a chance." Mark shot back. "Don't you want your freedom?"

"How free is Alphabet City? It's dangerous out there."

"Helluva better place than here. This is our only exit, we have to take it."

"We can't. They'll _know_!"

_Crash!_

Heads whipped to the staircase. Mark knew that wasn't the New York storm, but he sure as hell wished it was. They shared a mutual glance of fear and suddenly Tammy was shaking at the realization.

"If he finds you here, we're both in for it!" Tammy cried. "Hide!"

"Tammy, we can't-"

"No!" She pushed him to the floor and hastily began pushing boxes in front of him. "Stay down! Don't move, no matter what! He won't see you. Please, Mark, just stay down. I don't want you hurt because of me."

"Tammy-"

"Shhh!" Tammy whispered, "He'll hear you!"

"TAMMY! OPEN THIS DOOR!" Frank's yell was slurred, he was drunk. "COME ON!"

"Coming, Frank." Tammy yelled, composing herself by the door, Mark was amazed out how strong her voice was. She opened the door and ran back down the stairs; she stood in front of Mark to make sure Frank couldn't see him from his spot above. As he walked down, more like stumbled, Mark doubted he could see anything through his bloodshot eyes.

"Got the goods today?" He questioned, moving to stand near Tammy. His back to Mark. "I need some to keep my _friend _busy upstairs."

Tammy shuddered, but luckily it went unnoticed by the druggie in front of her. "You locked me in, Frank. Remember?"

"No excuse!"

Frank slapped her across the cheek but Tammy held her ground. His eyes were wide and dizzy as his eyes searched the room wildly. A shudder ran through the filmmaker's body, he recognized that look as if he'd just seen it yesterday. Two days after Roger expressed his wishes to quit smack he'd caved and went out to buy some, the next day Roger stumbled back to the loft looking for more. It was the first time Roger had really hurt Mark. The first time Roger had raised a hand to the blond. They'd taken the look away from Roger's eyes and brought back the real Roger. Mark's Roger.

This was different. Frank was different.

The eyes of a druggie.

The flare of desire.

Frank wanted a hit.

Desperately.

_Crash!_ Mark shuddered. Frank was running around the basement, he was tearing apart the whole room look for any trace of smack. Behind his back, Tammy looked to Mark and shot him a look.

"WHERE IS IT?" Frank roared, eyes widening with realization. "YOU TOOK IT, DIDN'T YOU?"

Tammy whipped around. "What? No, Frank. I swear there wasn't anything I could do. You locked me in here last night."

"NO EXCUSE!"

"Let me out," Tammy tried helplessly. "Let me out and I'll buy some more."

"You're going to run." Frank rounded on her. "I know that look. We caught you last time. You _can't_ run."

Tammy shrunk. She was listening to him, Mark realized. Hell, he couldn't blame her that much, for it was like she said. There'd been so much shit Frank had told her and she did not want to chance it. She'd grown accustomed to listening.

_Crash!_

More boxes flew, Mark cringed; he was sitting behind the only set of boxes that weren't knocked over. Tammy was growing frantic; she didn't even bother to check if Frank was looking at her, she locked eyes with Mark and said nothing. There was nothing to say. Bracing himself, Mark realized that Frank was right in front of him-

"FRANK!" A voice shouted from above. "What the hell are you doing?"

Jimmy. Mark hadn't seen him in years. He'd first met the pudgy man when he first came to New York, bartended at his bar and cleaned up after and before it opened and closed. Years ago the bar had been shut down because of drug bust-up and Jimmy fled. Was that where they were now? In the basement of that same old bar?

Frank spun around and glared and the fat man. "I thought you were going to wait upstairs."

"That entire racket is drawing ears."

"From who? The only people who give a damn are the cops and we're surrounded by homeless people."

"Doesn't mean you shouldn't be careful."

"It's nearly been a year! Don't lecture me now."

Tammy heaved a small sigh, her breath catching in her throat as eyes turned to her. Jimmy walked up, bubbly hips swaying with every step, and stopped in front of her with a blood-thirsty look in his eye. "Got somethin' to say?" Tammy shook her head, recoiling slightly only to have the man swipe her wrist tightly.

"Let her go, eh?" Frank spat, suddenly much softer now that somebody else was hurting the woman. "She didn't do nothin'."

"Yet." Jimmy hissed. "We should just get rid of her."

"It's too late now. She'll tell somebody."

"That's why we _get rid of her_." Frank reached into his jean pocket and pulled out a black object that Mark knew too well what it was. Tammy's eyes visibly widened at the sight of the black menace. "What's the matter? Scared of me now?"

Tammy gave a breath and quickly responded, "Scared of you? No. I'm scared of the big black gun." She spat in his face and was quickly granted a large slap by the gun that sent her sprawling to the floor. Blowing her hair out of her face, Tammy looked up with eyes of a person who could care less of they died right then and there. It was then Mark realized that Tammy had had enough of their shit. If she had to die to get out of there then she would die. It didn't matter anymore.

She'd given up.

Biting his lip from screaming out to her, Mark clenched his fists tightly and cautiously poked his head out. It didn't matter, they wouldn't see him in the dark of the basement with their attention averted, but Mark didn't take a chance.

"Shut up down there!" Another Well Hungarian, Tony, yelled as he poked his head out the door. He wiped his hair away from his eyes and gave a small look of disbelief at the sight before him. "What are you doing, man? We were going to save the gun for later at the poker game."

_What in the hell happened to them when April died? _Mark questioned himself. After April died Roger left the band and it had apparently all went down hill from there, for Mark knew that they didn't do anything but get high and drunk at parties. Roger was the lucky one, even with his HIV status, because Roger had friends that got him clean and to a better lifestyle.

_So if we didn't help Roger then he would have… died…_

Hell, Frank, Jimmy, and Tony were as good as dead the way they were now.

"Put that down!" Frank shouted, stepping up slightly. "You'll hurt yourself, asshole!"

"No way," Jimmy growled. His eyes trailed on the cowering Tammy. "She's gotten away too much."

"He's been drinking!" Tony shouted dumbly, bumbling down the stairs with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. "That fool is going to go all trigger-happy on us."

Jimmy whipped around and the gun pointed straight to the chest of Tony. "Be on your guard. You'll be dead before your brain can even process another _stupid_ thought. Now… you have a question for yourself. Do you feel lucky?" Tony gulped. "It that a no?"

Mark gulped, still biting his tongue to keep from screaming out.

Tony whispered, glaring, "You-"

_BOOM!_

There was no more playing around, not with a gun on the loose. Tony had fallen forward and everything seemed to freeze in place as his sightless eyes remained open and blood oozed from his chest. It was a shrieking sound that drew off the gunfire as Tammy scrambled backwards until she was cowering in the corner of the basement. The sight before Mark made his stomach tumble, a lurch inside of him made him swallow down whatever was climbing up his throat. Quickly, Mark stuffed his fist into his mouth and bit down hard.

_Don't scream, Cohen. Whatever you do, don't scream._

"YOU IDIOT!" Frank yelled, pointing stupidly at the fallen man. "YOU DRUNKEN IDIOT!"

Jimmy laughed drunkenly.

"What the hell did you do that for?"

"You know why?" Jimmy staggered forward and waited until their faces were inches apart. "It's because I never liked him anyway." He shrugged. "Drank all of my beer."

"Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit." Tammy mumbled, pressing her legs against her body.

_They weren't kidding. _Mark realized. _There were really going to kill her if she escaped._

"Now it's your turn." Jimmy turned suddenly and pointed the gun right at Tammy. "Stand up. Let me get a look at you." Green eyes trailed on the barrel of the gun, Tammy could do nothing but oblige to the order. "Lucky to survive this far, eh?"

"Only to die in front of your ugly face," Tammy hissed, spitting onto his face. She smirked.

_She's done… _Mark thought to himself. _Shit, she's given up._

"Stop!" Frank yelled. "Jimmy, what the hell? We're using her."

"To run errands!" Jimmy spat, gun still unsteady in his shaky hand. "Run your own damned errands. Soon she'll spill everything. Do you want that?"

"No, but-"

"SHUT UP!" Jimmy readied the gun. "Say goodbye-"

_BOOM!_

_Oh shit…_ Mark wiped his brow as he squared his shoulders and tried mentally to calm his beating heart. There'd been a lot of instances in the alley's of Alphabet City that he had gotten out of some sticky situations. Knives, chains, broken bottles, and glass- you name it. However, as that gun steadied in Jimmy's drunken hand and that man's chubby finger hovered over the trigger, Mark couldn't even think as his feet moved. Instantly he'd run full force into the offended hand and the bullet ricocheted off the concrete wall. Various boxes went sprawling and Mark didn't think to breathe as he came between the two druggies and Tammy.

Jimmy staggered backwards, his gun flown out of his hand. "Who the hell are you?"

Mark steadied himself, feeling nothing but the numbness of his beating heart. "Mark Cohen."

"Holy shit!" Frank staggered forwards and grabbed Mark by the scuff of his shirt. "Well, I'll be damned. Cohen, is that really you?"

"What do you think?" Mark took in a deep breath and let it out easily. He was thoroughly surprised he could keep his voice steady. Out of the side of his eyes he watched Tammy tremble, she was eyeing the gun.

"You were a good kid." Jimmy said suddenly, still swaying in his drunken state. "Too good, really. Got Davis on the wagon and kept him there. Still there, is he?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Davis was… Lotsa talent."

"Whose side are you on?" Frank slapped Jimmy's arm. "How drunk are you, you idiot!" The crazed rocker turned to glare daggers into Mark's eyes and questioned, "How did you get here?" Mark remained silent. "Well?"

Mark reeled back at the punch hit his cheek. He lay on the floor, hand on the concrete holding him up, and spat a sudden wad of blood. Turning his head, he found that Tammy had frozen herself to the floor. "Tammy," he whispered, "move- Ahhh!" A painful surge jolted through Mark's body as Frank grabbed a fistful of his hair and hauled him back up to his feet.

"Cat got your tongue, Cohen? Well, we'll just have to fix that." Another blow, one to the cheek and two to his already bruised side. Mark's glasses flew from his face, a broken mess of glass shattering to the ground. "Better?"

Tammy scrambled forwards, diving for the gun-

"Nuh-uh!" Jimmy was quicker to the punch as he kicked the woman away and knelt down to get the gun. "Damn bitch. I told you she'd only bring trouble to us." Tammy glared and Jimmy waved the gun in her face. "Let's finish her off."

"No way." Frank grinned maniacally. "Keep her alive."

"But-"

"No! We've got what we want right here." Frank grinned as he shook Mark in his hands, the blond moaning in pain. Another blow came, one to the neck and two to the gut. Frank held Mark up off the ground, Mark's feet dangling slightly, and squeezed his throat. "Let's finish off this guy. Always was causing trouble for Davis, 'course the pretty boy front man never listened. This'll teach him."

Jimmy grinned and knelt down so that his face was inches away from Tammy. "See that?" he held her chin and forced her eyes to the sight of Frank strangling Mark. "You did that." Tammy tried to look away, but Jimmy kept a firm hold. "Look at that and see if you have a guilty conscious."

Mark felt the heat rise to his cheeks, but he was sure it was from the lack of oxygen and not a blush. "Let go," he managed to croak.

Frank laughed. "Hey, Jimmy! You wanna do the honors?"

"I already had an honor," Jimmy smirked, kicking Tony's dead hand away as he stepped over the young man's body. "It's your turn."

"Pleasure." Frank reeled Mark around so that Mark was ready to fall right on the couch. "Give it here-" the gun was placed into his hands and suddenly the eyes were back. No longer did the death of an old friend matter to him. Frank wanted blood.

"Stop it!" Tammy scrambled forwards but was held back by Jimmy. She beat her fist against his chubby chest and cried out, "Stop, Frank! Please, Frank, stop! PLEASE!"

"It all started when Davis met you." Frank ignored the angry rant and cocked the gun. "Well, now it ends here."

Mark's eyes widened, his heart beat heavily in his chest and suddenly the gun was shoved in his mouth. The metal touched his tongue and Mark chocked slightly, careful not to squirm thinking one movement and he'd be doomed. He gagged though, unable to take the mixed taste of the coppery blood and black metal hitting his taste buds at the same time.

"Say goodbye-"

"NO!"

_BOOM!_

The gun was suddenly ripped out of his mouth and the bullet flew away, inches away from hitting his face.

The images of a girl swam through his gaze suddenly and the gun was flying the floor. He heard the ricochet of the bullet bouncing off the wall and then a sudden pain in the back of his head. He'd hit the side table. Voices swam through his mind:

"YOU KILLED HIM!"

"He's unconscious. Shut up and sit down before I blow _your_ head off."

"What now?"

"Throw him out."

"I thought you were going to kill him."

"Throw him out. Grab the damned thing and go. He won't say anything about this if he knows what good for him." Shadowed image hovering above him, something slapping his cheek. "Will you? If you do, the girl dies. You don't want that, do you?"

Mark was in a haze. There was no need to comprehend anything. Hands branched out to grab his arms and legs and suddenly he was being thrown into an alley, but he wasn't aware. Everything was dizzy. Nothing made sense.

"MARK!" Tammy was yelling. "Wake up!"

"Shut up!"

"Lock the window."

"Don't think of helping him or you'll be joining Tony. You don't want that."

Footsteps carrying away. Mark couldn't see anything, his head rolled back and forth and his ears were perked out but he couldn't comprehend anything. Everything was so dizzy…

"Mark… Mark… Take this and forget me…"

His camera.

XXXXXXXX

Wetness on his face. New York rain. Mark jolted awake and the only thing he was aware of was the blackness staring down at him and the unbelievable pain coursing throughout his body. Hands reaching out blindly, Mark felt the metal that had to be his camera and held it close to his body. His camera was safe and he was safe. But where was safe?

Mark blinked against the shadows.

Nothing.

Another blink.

Nothing.

_What the hell happened?_

When nothing turned came into his sight, Mark stumbled to his feet, camera held tightly to his chest, and walked-

A garbled voice coughed. "Watch it!"

A blunt object, probably a person, rammed into Mark's shoulder, causing him to yelp out in pain. Without thinking, Mark rubbed his sore shoulder and tried, desperately, "Excuse me? Can you help me?" He turned to where the person would've been and squinted as he came face-to-face with a tall, shadowed figure.

"Wha's da' matter? Are ya lost?" The mysterious figure questioned, and Mark could almost hear the smirk in the stranger's voice. Suddenly Mark knew what he'd done was a bad idea. "Ya look a bit rich, despite the ruggedness. So how's 'bout it Mista' Filmmaker?"

Carefully taking a step back, jamming into a wall, Mark clutched his camera into a tighter grasp. "No… You've got it wrong. I'm poor–"

Useless. The larger man pushed Mark into an alley. Loud crashes of thunder and flashes of lightning continued to boom overhead. The little illumination brought the man's shadow-form in front of Mark's face as a fist connected with his gut and a hand pushed him to the pavement. Mark blinked tears back as he crumbled against the concrete wishing with all his might for some sort of solace. The offended mugger, however, was soon joined by two more figures as they tore his jacked from his body and tried to swipe his camera away from the death clutch he had on it. Mark kicked until his limbs were about to give.

"HEY!"

A bark-like growl followed as feet stomped through the alleyway and pulled the nearest shadowed-figure, who happened to be working on Mark's shoes, away. Mark continued to blink against the rain and tears as he looked up to the dark figure above him, who had built up his own strong scuffle against the three muggers. He wiped the blood from his lips and spat out the wad of crimson liquid building in his mouth before letting the hacking coughs wrack his thin body. Not even noticing that the three muggers had run, Mark cringed as his savior bent down to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Whoa, buddy. Are you okay?" Eyes flickering upwards to the man, Mark watched the shadow-form ran a hand through his hair before grasping Mark's shoulder comfortingly. "Mark?"

"Rog?"

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

April 24th, 7:35 PM, Eastern Standard Time

Mark pressed his palm to his temple and screwed his eyes tightly shut as another headache came one. One hand snaked up to grab a fistful of hair as the incessant throbbing pulsed through his brain. Tears welled in the back of Mark's eyes as his grip tightened. Mark vaguely felt Roger and Collins's gazes shooting daggers into him as he attempted to sink deeper into the couch cushion. It was no use. He let his head fall and continued to massage his temple from the agonizing migraine.

"It was… there just- I wasn't thinking. Or, maybe I was. Shit… I'm just… I don't know anymore…" Mark muttered, more to himself than to his two companions as he struggled to piece together the puzzles of his mind. "Maybe it was just-"

"Breathe, Mark."

In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out.

For the third time that day, Mark hadn't realized his breath was coming out shallow until he heard Collins's voice. The anarchist swam across his vision as Roger; Mark guessed, pushed away suddenly and started pacing. If not for the sound of the rain pattering heavily onto the window behind him, Mark would've gone crazy from the silence. He dropped his elbows to steady on his knees and continued to massage his head as his breathing slowed to a reasonable pace.

"Okay. Just keep taking deep even breathes." Collins continued in a whisper, his hand moving to massage his shoulder reassuringly. "Just slow down and breathe, boy. You got that? In and out. In and out…"

The muttering curses of Roger filled the air and soon Mark was flinching against the pained noise. He couldn't stop the slight moan eliciting from his mouth as a crash emerged from somewhere in the loft. This much was what Mark remembered as his worst memory: Withdrawal-Roger in such a rage, items being thrown around the loft aimlessly, the New York rain beating down, thunder and lightning crashing, and everything was just chaos-

_Crash!_

Thunder or a lamp breaking, Mark didn't know. Everything around him just made his headache burn ten, second after second as more noises invaded his ears. Blindly, Mark reached up and grabbed the hand of Thomas Collins, ceasing the anarchist's calming movements. "Stop him," Mark croaked out, instantly surprised at how fragile his voice came out. "Just… It's so _loud_." He was vaguely aware how weak that made him sound, but Mark could've cared less as his head dropped again and his hands went back to massage his temple.

A simple squeeze to the shoulder and Mark knew everything would be all right. Mark watched through squinted eyes as the shadow-formed Collins pushed himself off the couch and made his way toward the other shadowed-form who could only be one Roger Davis. Wincing as another crash occurred; again Mark couldn't tell if it was the storm outside or inside the loft.

"Damn it! Damn it all!"

Roger let out a yell that could've shattered anybody's eardrums, had they been close enough to the enraged rocker. Mark watched as his friend grabbed an object, what looked to be a coffee cup, and hurl it at the loft's large window. His hand whipped out again and in an instant another cup flew after the first one, and Mark could see the shadowed-form of little shards of glass piling on to the floor. Legs tightening against his body, Mark curled up on the couch and leaned into the back cushion of the couch as his head fell down to bury into his knees. Dominant ear tilting toward Roger…

Mark listened.

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

"This is just _marvelous_!" Roger growled, another glass hurling into the window and shattering to pieces as if fell to the floor. "How in the hell are we supposed to comprehend this? We're not dealing with a druggie anymore! We're dealing with a _murderer_!" He reached to pick up another glass and once again hurled it against window, watching in pleasure as the glass fell again, colorful shards gathering at the base of the windowsill.

Collins muttered a curse under his breath as he stalked towards the enraged musician and grabbed his wrist before he could toss the next defenseless glass toward the window. He angrily spun Roger around so their faces were inches apart, hot breath brushing each other's skin as fiery green eyes met those of warm brown.

"What the hell, Davis?" Collins spat, grabbing the younger man by the neck of his shirt and tightening the hold. "You can't keep yourself calm for even _two seconds_ before going into a rant. You are not a child! Don't expect me to be okay with the fact that your fits come and go as you please, because we've all been through hell this past month. Some of us have to hold it together though. Especially you-"

"Sure," Roger said, voice coming down a notch to a throaty whisper, "tell me that I've matured to the point that I won't go crazy, Thomas. Tell me, truthfully, that you don't believe I won't up and run. That's who I am! You can't change the fact that I'm the same bastard who ran off to Santa Fe after Angel's death," Collins cringed. "because I thought things were too damned difficult. I am-"

"Were," Mark piped up suddenly. "You _were _that guy…"

Heads turning, Collins and Roger saw that Mark had not even been looking up, his face still buried in his knees. Coughing, Collins pushed Roger away like he was a disgusting piece of filth that had grown off of the mold on their crusty bread. "Listen to me, man," he poked Roger's chest for emphasis.

Roger glared. "I'm not a child-"

"You sure as hell are acting like one. If you're going to blame yourself, throw your damned tantrum, and growl like a dog, you're a child." Collins jabbed his finger in the direction of the blond heap on the couch, "So, if you're not listening for me, do it for your best friend because he's sure making a lot more sense then you are in this situation."

Green eyes moving, Roger took in the shivering filmmaker with one blink before turning back to the anarchist in front of him and giving a single nod of mutual understanding. The coffee cup in his hand faltered and soon Roger slammed in half-heartedly onto the dining room table. "What?"

"Don't give me that sarcastic shit. Not today. I've gotten enough of it from Mark, Maureen, and you." Collins pushed Roger slightly and said, "Listen to me, man. Okay? Don't talk." He waited for the musician to nod before continuing. Collins heaved a deep breath and said, "If you don't think I don't remember what happened after Angel's funeral then you're dead wrong. Nothing can come close to how hard that's been for all of us; especially considering it's obviously been having a lasting effect. We were all affected. Emotions ran high that day and you thought to up and leave New York for Santa Fe, _but_ you came back after you realized your mistake. We all make those mistakes, man, but in the long run we learn from it."

"How is that possible?" Roger argued. "I ran off after April died."

"For one week. Mark and I found you in Tompkins Square Park."

"It's still running off."

"You were high, man. After we got some coffee into your system you asked us to keep you in the loft. You asked us not to send you to a clinic but I was this close," Collins held two fingers close together, "to sending your smack-induced ass out of here. Mark didn't let me. That damned boy may be scrawny and, at times, uncoordinated, but he knows what's best for his friends, even if he doesn't know what's best for himself. It's the same for you, Roger. You know what's good for Mark, somewhere deep down you know just what to do. You're not listening to your _heart_. You're listening to your _mind_."

"Sometimes it's not enough."

"Isn't it?" Collins questioned, eyes squinting as if thoroughly investigating the rocker in front of him. "You're right, Roger. You ran off after April died, you ran off after Angel's funeral, and no matter how you say it you were still running off. Don't you get it? You've changed. In a big way. Don't think about the past, think about right now." Collins paused. "Where are you?"

"What?" Roger recoiled, hand running through his hair.

"You heard me, man." Collins repeated, "Where are you?"

"New York City." Roger replied, chewing his lip gingerly. Collins nodded, urging him to go one. "I'm at the loft. What the hell are you getting at here? We know-"

"You're a thick-headed asshole, you know that Davis? For once in your life _listen to yourself_! You're in New York City, with all of us enduring the same pain that's been on everybody's mind. You haven't run off."

"Well…"

"See? It's changed this time." Collins grabbed Roger's shoulder and squeezed it. "Don't screw that up."

"Dammit." Roger muttered. He paced in the kitchen for a few seconds, hands running through his hair, down his leather jacket, into and out of his jeans pocket, but never stopping from his incessant movement. Roger sauntered casually towards the couch and placed a comforting hand on Mark's shoulder. "Man, I'm so-"

"Don't say it." Mark muttered into his knees, "Please, don't say it."

"Mark, man. Look at me."

Head coming up, hair suddenly _very _disheveled looking; Mark pushed himself out from the comfort of his knees and looked towards Roger. His eyes were screwed tightly against the darkness that he knew danced before his eyes as the familiar trace of a bruise lined his right cheek. Roger cautiously brought a finger to trace the red line running across his eye, suddenly very aware of all the scratches that lined his best friend's face.

"Mark," Roger coughed, uncomfortable at how weak his voice sounded. "Mark, man… Neither of us can do this alone and I promised that I wouldn't leave you, but you've got to help me to. I've screwed up a lot of our promises, but I'm not going to be making promises anymore. This is my word to you, because I know there's nothing else that can break through that. I'm here for you, Mark… Mark?"

Eyes opening, glazed and unseeing, Mark's lips quirked up into a tiny smile. "I didn't think you'd leave. Ever. I never believed you'd leave." And he fell into Roger's warm and comfortable embrace.

Collins looked on.

"What now?"


	13. Grasping Troubles

**Chapter Thirteen: Grasping Troubles**

"No, sir. You don't understand-"

"_I understand perfectly Mr. Collins. If you would like to come down to the station to fill out a missing person's report then we can get down to business, but under the circumstances, it just doesn't seem to us that you have enough information. This is New York City, sir, and we do not have time for hoopla. You have one witness, who happens to be visually impaired, and you're telling me he just got his memory back a few hours ago after watching footage that does not even contain these men's faces. We need some hardcore evidence if you are claiming murder and kidnapping."_

"She's been missing for four years! Shouldn't that be evidence enough?"

"_As you clearly state before. However, it appears that you also said that Tammy Carson has been missing for one year, not four. You said yourself that she went home after her sister's death and then came to New York. Please, we need the facts to be correct."_

"You're not going to do anything?"

"_You need to come down to the station."_

"What about these druggies? They've got guns! Do you want this city to be shot up?"

"_I will assure you, we will not let any harm come to this city. Please, I do not need to sound repetitive. Come down to the station, sir.__"_

"What will happen then?"

"_It'll be up to what is specifically on the footage. Your so-called witness needs to come down-__"_

"Are you saying my friend is a suspect?"

"_That's really-__"_

"Well! Is he?"

"_Please, sir. Calm down. Under these circumstances-__"_

"It's not circumstances! This is actual shit that's going down in our city and a woman could be in danger, or, worse, she could be dead! Haven't you been listening to anything I've been saying? A man is already dead."

"_Mr. Collins, I've checked this man, Jimmy Tank, in out records and it appears as if he's fled the state of New York as soon as his bar was caught up in a drug bust-up. He's on the run."_

"He's a runaway and I just fed you a tip! Doesn't than entitle me at least a checkout of the building?"

"_We are not going to get in on this matter. I've already relayed too much information that I ought not to of. I will have men sent to this building that you described, but nothing else can be done because we are not authorized to enter the building.__"_

"What's your name?"

"_Pardon me?__"_

"Your name. What is it?"

"_Sergeant Michael Simmons. How is this relevant to your case, sir?_"

"It's not. I'd just like to know who the hell wasted fifteen minutes of my time, after getting nowhere, with a case that can cause multiple deaths, so I can tell the news your name when something actually does go down. Now I ask you _Sergeant, _can you live with yourself with that on your conscience? I'll be you can't."

"_Sir-_"

"Thank you!" Collins slammed the phone down angrily and for a few seconds all he could do was glare down at the phone, fists clenched tightly against his side as his heart beat unsteadily in his chest. Never in his life did Thomas Collins want so badly to march into the police station and bash a man of the law to their oblivion. However, as the image entered Collins' mind, he immediately smirked at the thought and controlled his intense heartbeat.

"I take it they didn't believe you?" Whipping around quickly, startled from his thoughts, Collins found himself eye-to-eye with Roger. Roger smirked at the reaction of his presence and said, "Must've been a real deep thought to get _you_ to zone out."

Collins rolled his eyes. "Unfortunately not."

Roger sighed and shook his head as he confirmed his first question. "They didn't believe you."

"Not in the slightest. We need to head down there to fill out a missing person's report and Mark needs to be questioned-"

"Questioned? Why the hell would he need to be questioned?"

"Apparently he's a suspect-"

"Suspect!" Roger roared and spat the word out as if it was venom.

"Roger, calm down and listen for a second. Right now we've got to see where they are coming from. Considering everything that's happened they're thinking logically about this, as opposed to us, and, as I told them, Mark is the only witness to this whole thing. The footage helps out his case but it was turned off after he got into the basement with Tammy, all they have to go on is his word." Collins said, "Now think, man, in the earlier footage, the one you told me about, did Tammy confess to anything that was happening to her?"

Chewing his bottom lip mercilessly, Roger paced the loft as a hand ran through his hair and down his face. Roger was _dead_ tired and his brain had seemed to be on overkill. Collins waited patiently for the musician to get everything together, he needed the musician's help on this. Everything was working out though, or, at least, better then Collins would've initially expected, and Collins was just happy to see Roger still in the city. After everything that happened, after all the talks it would've been amazing if Roger still had thoughts about running.

"Mark and Tammy were arguing…then the bus…more arguing- but it was nothing about what was happening to her. She wouldn't tell him." Roger shook his head absently as he wracked through his jumbled thoughts. "They were running again…somewhere, that place in the alleyway so they could climb through the window… yeah. Shit, Mark got a shot of the inside but we don't know exactly, just what he described. Tammy didn't have time to explain anything, Frank came down and it cut off right there."

"Did you get an image of what he looked like?"

"Not really… It was mostly the carpet and then it cut off."

"Eh, that probably won't help. You know, they think he ran off."

"What?"

"After the drug bust-up Jimmy ran away. It's nothing to worry about for us, once they see that it is the same Jimmy from you and Mark's past then it'll be easier to convince them of what happened," Collins reasoned. He looked around the living room suddenly frowned. "Where's Mark?"

"Sleeping. I took him to his room, for now."

"Huh, I figured he'd be down a few minutes into his speech after I slipped him those damned pills. How's he doing with all this?"

"He's as best as he can be but-" Roger stopped suddenly, his brain only now registering what Collins had just said. "Pills? You gave him pills? Which ones? The ones for his headache?"

Waving a hand dismissively, Collins said, "They were… well, technically they're his _nighttime _pills. You know? Full of that crap that makes him drowsy in about two to three hours after he takes em' until he eventually drops out. Used to give it to em' all the time when he first moved to the city, back when he was getting mugged everyday, said it was headache medicine back then too. Most of the times I saw him take it he'd go out right away, but I guess that's because he was already down for a nap-"

"Are these the same pills you gave me when I was going through withdrawal?"

"No, these are actual pills that help a headache. I got em' from the doctor 'cause we didn't have money to go out to the pharmacy to buy it. " Collins retracted the pill bottle from his pocket and held it out to Roger, who examined the orange bottle wearily. "The pills I gave you were placebos."

"Placebos? As in those _sugar_ pills?"

"The one in the same." Collins winked. "The doctor I talked to called me an idiot for asking him about it but I used em' anyway and they helped you out a bunch of times when we didn't want to give you any actual drugs." He placed a finger to his temple and said, "It's all part of the mind, my friend."

"Damned things might've been useful to Mark."

"Probably not. He knows what they are. Besides, Mark's a complex kind of guy; he doesn't use his brain to process something as simple as… I don't know, having the flu, for example. Anyway, I've been thinking, what we heard of Mark's record of what happened that night, he hit his head against the side table. Now, the doctor said he didn't have a concussion, but, due to the psychological facts we know now, it could be a mix-and-match process."

"Mix-and-match? Psychological? What do you mean?" Roger questioned, clearly confused.

Collins tried to explain his thought, "It _could _be psychological, but it could also be by the way he hit his head. I'm not entirely sure, but I think it might be both at the same time. Mark's mind was suppressing the memory and he hit his head. It's possible the two mental and physical priorities came into play and messed with his head more than we might think."

"So, there's a chance he might get his vision back?"

"There's a chance he could get it back, but we won't really know until he's checked out by his doctor. The doctors will probably come up with a reason we aren't thinking of. Don't forget, we can hope-"

"Hope?" Roger raised a brow. "You honestly think _hope _will do us some good?"

"The prospect of hope is a lot more powerful then one might think. Hope is the power that gives us the power to move through each day, face the dangers in this world and help us feel that everything can and will get better soon."

Roger blinked. "You're such a professor."

Collins chuckled.

_Click. Knock. Knock. Knock._ Mimi's head poked into the loft and she gave a hesitant smile as she saw Collins and Roger in the middle of the living room having, what looked to be, from her view, a heated conversation. She questioned, "Is it okay if we came in?"

"That was quick," Roger said, moving to open the door fully. He arched a brow at the rest of the bohemians crowded in the hallway and with a small sigh ushered them into the loft. He closed and locked the door and watched wearily as everybody slinked into the living room. "Did you already eat dinner?"

Benny looked to him confusedly. "Haven't you checked the clock, it's almost 9:30 PM."

Looking to the clock on the wall, Collins sighed. "So it is."

"Where's Mark?" Maureen questioned, looking around the loft for their filmmaker. "Is he sleeping? I really wanted to talk to him about something." She looked to his bedroom door and chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully, an expression she only used when she was incredibly serious about something. This made Collins smile, it was always nice -albeit rare- to see the softer side of the usual happy-go-lucky diva.

Sitting down on the arm of the couch, the small furniture already filled with Joanne, Maureen, and a sleeping Blink, Collins placed his hand over Maureen's and smiled kindly. "He's sleeping but you can speak to him tomorrow."

Roger, however, looked wary of having his best friend's ex-girlfriend speak to him. In his defense, he hadn't seen or heard what Collins had said to the rest of their bohemian family and he was still a bit protective over Mark. "What do you need to talk to him about? Maybe I could tell him for you."

Maureen sighed and leaned into Joanne. "It's nothing, Roger. I just wanted to apologize for something I said to him."

"Oh," Roger stated simply, embarrassed. "Well, yeah, he's not up for visitors I don't think."

"Maybe we should just get home." Joanne offered, taking Maureen by the hand and hauling her off the couch. "Come on, honey bear, we'll come back to see Mark tomorrow. You can talk to him then."

"Do you need a ride?" Benny offered, holding the keys to his Range Rover up. "Or you can take my car and give it back tomorrow."

_Interesting, _Collins thought to himself with a grin as he plopped down on the cushion Maureen had just vacated. He took Blink in his lap and stroked the tired dog's ear as he watched the exchange between Maureen and Benny. They'd come a long way since their first meeting, especially since it was just last year that they hated each other. _I need to catch up on this. Maybe they had a talk at the Life Café tonight… Ah, well, maybe not. I'll ask Mimi later._

"No, thanks," Maureen replied to the suggestion. "It's a nice night. We'll walk."

Joanne looked less than pleased. "Nice night? It's raining!"

"So, we'll get wet." Maureen squeezed Joanne closer to her.

"The things I put up with." Joanne chuckled, kissing her girlfriend.

"Good," Maureen whispered, nuzzling Joanne's neck.

"Here," Benny held out an umbrella, "if you're not going to take my car than at least take this."

"Thanks." Joanne grinned.

Maureen and Benny exchanged hugs. It neither was hurried or quick nor was it long and lasting, but it was truthful and friendly. A lot could be told from a hug, Collins knew that for a fact, and it was that particular hug that told Collins there was some relief in their odd friendship.

"So," Mimi started after Maureen and Joanne took their leave, she pursed her lips and looked to Roger worriedly, "what happened?"

"It was just…" Roger trailed off, looking away from his girlfriend as he moved to the windowsill and stared absently out into the New York rain. He opened his mouth; eyes narrowed slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but just closed his eyes thoughtfully and shook his head.

"Is that _glass_?" Benny questioned in disbelief, pointing to the colorful shards crunching underneath Roger's shoes.

_Whoops, forgot about that._ Collins unintentionally chuckled aloud, earning himself a glare from Roger and confused looks from the other two. He raised his hands in his own defense and said, "Forgot to clean that up. It's nothing to worry about." Benny gave him a look. "Really."

"All right." Benny stated hesitantly.

"Is there something we can do?" Mimi questioned, stepping over the glass and moving to grasp Roger's arm comfortingly. She ran a hand over his cheek and delicately forced his eyes to face her own eyes. "Anything at all?"

"No," Roger whispered, "I don't think there's anything you can do now."

"Are you sure?"

"Well…"

Roger seemed to cringe at whatever thought was in his head, making Collins weary. The musician ran a hand through his hair and turned slightly to face the man still standing in the middle of the living room- Benjamin Coffin III. Benny looked around dumbly, almost as if Roger wasn't looking into his eyes. He looked back and said, "Me?"

_Terrific._ Collins chuckled again, this time gaining no attention from the other three. He smirked as he watched.

"You still have all your business contacts?"

"Some. Why?"

"We need your help…" Roger scratched the back of his head idly. "_I_ need your help."

Benny got that familiar childish glint in his eye, and for a second Collins thought Benny was going to go back to his gloating. For so long when it was just the five of them-Roger, Mark, Benny, Collins, and Maureen-and the two would be at each other's throats like clockwork. With Roger and Benny it was all yelling, all mayhem and most of the time it was Mark to pick up the pieces. It wasn't necessarily because Mark was closer to Benny or because he knew what to say to an angry Roger, but it was because he was usually the only one home at the time. Maureen had her performances and Collins was always with his teaching and tutoring duties.

However, Collins knew they were behind that. In one month they'd beaten their petty fight and settled it like men, just like Collins knew they would. Hell, sure he and the rest of the bohemians were mad at Benny for selling-out when he met Muffy, but he came back. Benny came back and realized their friendship was indeed thicker then blood. They could hold a grudge, and that same grudge could rear its ugly head every now and then, but that didn't mean forgiveness wasn't an option.

_Forget regret. No day but today._

"Well," Benny finally said, "what do you need?"

Collins nodded. He realized in those five words that everything could and would be fine between them.

"Maybe it would be better if I sit this one out?" Mimi suggested, sensing the tension in the room. Roger was looking at her as if she shouldn't be in the room anyway, and by this time she'd found the perfect exit. "I can always sleep over at Maureen and Joanne's place."

"You don't-" Roger stopped himself, realizing how false his words sounded.

Collins knew the musician didn't want Mimi to go through this now, not after coming so far along through her withdrawal. How would an ex-druggie of nearly six months handle knowing one of her friends was kidnapped by two druggies?

"It's fine." Mimi smirked, rubbing Roger's arm tenderly. "Really, I understand."

Roger looked down to his girlfriend and couldn't help but smirk. "Joanne and Maureen already left."

"Actually they're probably waiting downstairs for you," Benny piped up, the familiar glint back in his eye. The two may not have been fighting anymore -or, at least, they weren't fighting too much anymore- but Benny was still the same ol' Benny. "Walking into this room I figured something happened, so I told Maureen to wait outside for a few seconds."

Breathing a sigh, Roger shook his head. "Smart ass."

Benny just shrugged.

"Fine." Roger drew Mimi into a long, passionate kiss before returning his own childish glint. "At least I got the girl."

"You know." Mimi smirked against Roger's lips. "If I wasn't so tired that would earn you a slap in the face."

"Good." Roger smiled.

Mimi stopped at the opened loft door, mid-step on her way out. "Promise me something?"

"Anything."

"Tell me what this is all about one day."

Roger smiled and nodded.

Mimi glanced one more time around the loft before leaving.

"So," Benny smirked. "What happened?"

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

"_You'll hurt him! Please, Frank, stop! PLEASE!"_

It was a swirl of colors, images meshing together to form one large mess inside his brain. The hand held him up by his neck, breathing becoming more difficult by the second as a metal object was shoved into his mouth. Everything was hazy. Mark bit his lip from screaming out but only succeeded in getting a full taste of the familiar metal and the coppery blood. His eyes were opened wide, blue staring into those of a crazed brown eyed man, his facial expression bloodthirsty.

"_It all started when Davis met you. Well, now it ends here._"

The hand at his neck was squeezing tighter, Mark was gagging against his taste buds as he tried to catch a breath of fresh air, and out of the corner of his eye all he could see was the disheveled brown-haired woman and her tear-stained eyes- Tammy. She was kicking, punching, and thrashing as she fought against the heavy man holding her back. The gun was cocked and everything slowed, painfully.

"_Say goodbye-_"

"Ooff! Holy shit!"

Mark grunted against the pain as a familiar soft lump of fur bounced on his chest. He barely had time to catch his breath and slow his ecstatic heartbeat as the same furry lump, who had to be Blink, pushed against Mark's abdomen until his snout was pressing its cold, wet nose to his cheek. Swatting away the dog's snout, Mark pushed himself into a more traditional sitting position and leaned his back against the headboard as Blink fell from his stomach and settled confidently in his lap.

_Ruff! Ruff!_ Blink yipped excitedly, his head settling peacefully on Mark's thigh.

Turning his head to the side, letting his hand stroke Blink absently, Mark squint his sightless eyes through the darkness and looked towards the lone window in his room. Tilting slight so that his dominant ear was perked slightly in the air, Mark cringed as the booming sound of thunder brushed his eardrums, telling him that the day had not ended yet. Everything was still happening.

_But, then again, what exactly was going on?_

Another boom of thunder made Mark shiver. The lightning before his eyes made the shadows whiter.

Blink brushed Mark's cheek again, the touch calming Mark slightly. His thoughts were in a whirl, everything pushing through his mind making out another migraine. He hardly heard the storm outside his window and was settling his head down, chin resting on his chest, as Mark instinctively brought his hands up to hold his head.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Tammy was still in that basement. She was still with those two druggies.

She could be dead.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

So close- _so_ close to be killed. Mark took an unsteady breath, his air catching in the base of his throat making him cough. In his lap, Blink was growing restless against his tense body, tail beating wildly against Mark's arms. Mark was still holding his head though, thoughts of that night bursting through his head. He didn't know what was to be done… Why didn't anything make sense anymore?

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

A month had passed, though, and Mark hadn't realized what his mind blocked out until now. Had Tammy been killed already? Could Jimmy and Frank have fled from the country because they knew Mark witnessed everything? Were _these_ the reasons Mark had blocked everything out of his mind?

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

It didn't help. What might've been- it doesn't help when reality sets back in. The pain doesn't go away.

Whether Mark liked it or not, that didn't matter.

What happened… it just happened.

_No matter what,_ Mark thought to himself, _it's still going to hurt…_

_Ruff. Ruff._ Blink whimpered his playful yip, barely energetic. The dog seemed to sense his pain, his anguish. A wet snout brushed against Mark's cheek and he didn't bother brushing Blink away as he took the dog in his arms and stroked Blink's soft brown fur. Blink relaxed in his arms, the erratic doggy heartbeat unbelievably calm.

Mark swung his legs over the edge of the bed, unsurprised as he realized his shoes were still on. He placed a hand to the door, bracing his sightless eyes against the darkness in front of him, and peeked into the living room to find one shadow-formed person hunched over the floor.

"Roger?" Mark guessed, taken aback at how weak his own voice sounded to his ears. He pushed open his door and stepped into the living room; his shadow-formed roommate hadn't heard him so he cleared his throat and tried again, "Rog?" Much better. "Rog, something wrong?"

"Mark? Shit, damn it!" Roger cursed his shadowed-form straightening as he held his hand to his chest. ""Damn…"

Concerned, Mark sidestepped the coffee table, stepped over the creased carpet, move around the couch, and walked over to his best friend. Mark looked to Roger and said, "Are you okay?" He reached out to grab Roger's hand but the musician backed up quickly. "What?"

"I just cut myself," Roger said "There was glass on the floor. I was cleaning it up."

"Oh." Mark nodded absently, backing away from the carnage and choosing to instead flop back down onto the couch in their living room. He patted Blink's head and said, "How long was I out?"

"Not too long. Maybe an hour? I'm surprised you're not still sleeping."

Mark shrugged and repeated, "Helluva storm."

"Right. Heavy sleeper I am, _I_ probably couldn't even sleep through it."

Mark listened to the rustling in the kitchen, looking to the movements of his shadow-formed friend as he held an object, probably a broom, and swept the glass shards up.

"Where is everybody?" Mark questioned. "Blink's here, does that mean everybody got back from dinner already?"

"Yeah, actually it was a few minutes after you fell asleep." _Whirsh._ The sink turned on, probably Roger washing his cut out. "The girls are having another night out and Benny and Collins went out."

"Police station?" Mark questioned bluntly, no remorse in his voice. "That's where they went. Right? After everything I said, after everything that I said happened that night to me… Did they?" He hadn't realized how quick his words were coming out until Roger had plopped down on the couch next to him and was telling him to calm down.

"Yeah. Benny's got some contacts at the police station. He and Collins took your film down there and they're going to fill out a report."

"They don't need me?"

"Well- I don't think… No- Actually, not now." Roger scratched the back of his head, leaning deeper into the couch cushions. "You were sleeping so they wanted to go down there to see if there was something they could do. Without you. I mean, after everything you've been through-"

"Yeah." Mark nodded, vaguely aware his voice cracked at the single word. He realized soon that Mimi had probably left the loft to give him space, but he didn't know if she knew what had happened. Would Roger tell her that?

"Hungry?" Roger questioned suddenly.

"No. Thanks, though." Mark frowned. "I don't think I could keep anything down."

Shoulders touching, Mark felt Roger tense up slightly.

_Way to go for brute honesty, Cohen! Now stick your foot in your mouth to make things more comfortable._

"Look-" "Listen-"

Each man stopped, waiting for the other to start again.

"Roger-" "Mark-"

They sighed together.

However dire the situation, Mark couldn't help a small smirk crawl up his face. Mark let Blink from his arms and watched the tiny-shadowed lump settle down in the tiny space between him and Roger. Seeing that nobody was saying anything, for fear that the other was going to talk to, Mark responded quickly, "You go."

"There was just- _I_ was just… No, that's not right. After everything this week- It's just that… Man, there isn't much to say-"

Mark couldn't resist a chuckle. "Doesn't seem to be the case." He smiled wider as Roger returned the laughter.

"Okay, well, then I wanted to apologize."

"Apologize?" Mark blinked, not expecting that. "I thought we already did- I mean, before we watched the footage. I understand Roger, really. It's no problem, what you said. I understand-"

"No, it's not that," Roger interjected, a hint of frustration in his voice, though it seemed to be directed at himself rather than at Mark. "Well, okay, it is that too, but it's more then that. Everything that happened, everything you told us tonight, I realized that I should've been more respectful of your opinion. Frank and Tony beat you up so many times, I knew it was them and I didn't do anything about it. I'm sorry. I guess I didn't realize it was _that _bad."

Mark merely shrugged. "Neither did I."

"But… I mean, you warned me they were bad news and I was so hotheaded back then. April and I were using, you were in the middle of our fights all the time, you got beat up because I wasn't there for you, and you still stuck it out through my withdrawal. It wasn't fair to you."

Eyes narrowed in on Roger's hunched shadowed-form. "Are you blaming yourself?" Receiving no immediate answer, Mark muttered a curse under his breath. "Roger, it wasn't your fault. I mean, maybe Tammy was right… I was just trying to be a Good Samaritan and it all blew up in my face–almost literally."

"Shit, man, that's not funny." Roger shoved Mark's shoulder, receiving a growl from Blink. "Man, this dog loves you."

"Thank Maureen."

Roger rolled his eyes. "So I will."

"Did you even go to your job?"

"No. I took the week off." Roger chuckled. "Told em' I had a family emergency that was life-or-death and they're letting me off. I don't start until next week."

"Lazy ass." Mark laughed, shoving Roger's arm back. "Where's my camera?"

"What?"

"My camera," Mark confirmed with a confident nod. "For a month I've been letting _you_ handle _my _camera. I want it back."

"Gladly," Roger said, hopping off the couch to wander somewhere in the kitchen. The musician grabbed the precious object and examined it humorously. "You know, I'll never understand what you like about photography."

Mark merely rolled his eyes. "Why do you like your guitar?"

"Easy- Ah, oh…"

Mark could hear the blush in Roger's tone. He laughed. "Roger Davis _does_ have a brain!"

"You realize I can break your camera?"

"Give it here!" Mark swiped blindly as his friend dangled the camera in front of his eyes. "You know, that's not funny! Would you yell into a deaf person's ear?"

"I don't know. I did it all the time when I was thirteen and it got kind of old after a while." Roger laughed before handing the camera to Mark. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic." Mark whispered truthfully. He loved the cold feeling against his skin, the way the metal still felt warm even though he hadn't used it properly in nearly a whole month. Mark didn't even need his eyes to remember what his camera was like: the simple handle, used for cinematic affect, various buttons along the right, the mesh of silver and black, and the film- Wait. The film.

"We had to take all the film from your camera." Roger explained, as if reading the filmmaker's mind. "Anything extra, that wasn't from that night, you put in a shoebox in your room. Remember? Do you have any more?"

Mark frowned, he was anxious to use his camera. "I think I have some in my camera bag- my old one, not the one Benny bought. I think I lost it before you found me-"

"Actually, after you came home, Maureen found it tossed in a dumpster-" Roger said, hopping off the couch.

"What was Maureen doing looking through dumpsters?" Mark questioned, followed his shadow-formed friend as Roger disappeared into Mark's room. He was probably rummaging through Mark's closet, looking to see if it was stuffed in there.

"I don't pretend to understand that woman's mind. She gave it to Collins and Collins washed it up for you. Ah! Here it is." Roger appeared in the doorway and held up the object happily. He tossed it into Mark's lap before picking up Blink and settling back down on the couch.

"Great. I think I got some extra film-" Mark paused. He was digging in the torn bag when something unfamiliar brushed against his fingers. Pulling the offended object out, hoping it wasn't some dead rodent that had crawled in from the dumpster. "What's this?"

"Let's see." Roger snatched the object from Mark's hands quickly. "Maybe it's somebody's phone number you forgot about!"

Mark chuckled. "Sure." He waited for Roger to speak but was met with silence. Blink was brushing his snout against Mark's palm, making the filmmaker turn his attention away from his film-finding-escapade. "Rog? What's it say?"

Roger frowned. "Damn…"

"What is it?" Mark questioned, confused.

"A photograph." Mark heard the fond smile in Roger's voice. "It's April and Tammy, together- Holy shit, man. Was this in your bag the whole time?"

"It's torn up on the inside and there's a big hole. I duct taped it down but…" Mark shook his head. "Collins didn't look through the whole thing."

"Wait, it's got a note." Roger read aloud:

_Mark, Jimmy and Frank didn't see your camera so I slipped it out before they hauled you into the alley. I've pretty much told myself they'll kill me and I can't do anything about it, but, well, I wanted to thank you. I know that sounds stupid. Frank kidnapping me was something I should've prevented though and I should've had the guts to run before. There isn't anything you could've done Mark. Don't blame yourself._

Mark frowned. "We've got to get her out of there. It's not safe."

"Mark, listen, I'm for that as much as you are, but we don't know if she's even there anymore."

"We have to at least try."

"The police-"

"Since when have you cared about the police? They aren't going to do anything about this Roger, so just give it up. If she dies that death will be on my conscience for the rest of my life. I don't care if that sounds selfish, but I won't let that happen to her. Not after everything-"

Suddenly, the phone rang. "_Speeeeeeeeeeeak!_"

"_Hey Rog,_" Collins, "_Benny and I got to the police station and I'm sorry to say there was no luck, even with Benny's contacts. They need to talk to Mark before anything. Also, it seems the cop I talked to on the phone didn't believe me, no cops were sent to the city. Well, we're on our way home, don't worry we'll figure something out._"

"MARK! STOP!"

_Don't stop. Don't think._

"MARK!" Roger was running after him. "Mark! Damn, man, slow down! Just stop for a second!"

_Remember Tammy. She's counting on you, Cohen._

_Don't let her down!_

Roger was running though. Running through rain. Running through the city's storm. Not giving a damn -he was following Mark.

Roger's voice: "_Mark, man… Neither of us can do this alone and I promised that I wouldn't leave you, but you've got to help me to. I've fucked up a lot of our promises, but I'm not going to be making promises anymore. This is my word to you because I know there's nothing else that can break though that. I'm here for you, Mark…_"

Mark stopped.

"What the hell, man?" Roger questioned, voice heated. He stalked up to him, though Mark was still facing forward, and draped a coat around Mark's shuddering shoulders. "What in the _hell_ was that, Mark!"

Mark turned his mind in a haze. His sightless eyes focused on the shadow-formed Roger in front of him; vaguely aware of how broken he looked standing in the middle of the rainstorm. "It's just not going to work, Rog. You heard Collins, they don't believe us. After blocking everything out, not knowing is worse then going blind. I _have_ to know."

"What they did to you-"

"I don't care." Mark said bitterly. "I said I didn't believe in Chaos Theory or fate or anything like that, but now I'm thinking this is what I'm supposed to do. I mean, after all these years it's more then a coincidence that I run into her. She needs me, even if she won't admit it."

"Mark-"

"What about Mimi?" Mark questioned, stopping Roger suddenly. "You left for Santa Fe and came back to find Mimi missing. You searched, didn't you? Well, that's what I need to do. Think about it, Roger! Think what would've happened if you were too late!"

Roger faltered.

It was below the belt, but Mark was desperate.

_Way to be rash Cohen. Seems like your and Roger's roles are switched._

Roger ran a hand through his hair. "Mark-"

"If you're not going to-"

"Let's go."


	14. Nothing’s Simple

**Chapter Fourteen: Nothing's Simple**

There was a small feat of feeling a single wet raindrop crawl down his skin, push through his thin article of clothing and slowly run down his shuddering pale arm until it drooped to the damp, gray pavement that had always eluded Mark. Never in his life did Mark think of taking the time, especially without his camera, to observe the world around him, taking in every sense of feeling and hearing all the tiny quirks the world had to offer. It never occurred to him that the sound of raindrops falling onto the pavement made a much different sound than the droplets from his showerhead into their bathtub, or how the feeling of the air conditioner differed from the feeling of natural air.

Of course, maybe Mark just never thought he had the time to think of these sorts of things. To really notice the small things life had to offer. Mimi had always preached their "No Day But Today" feeling, but did he ever really hear what she'd said? There was such a big difference, Mark had learned, between listening to something and actually hearing something. Had hiding behind the camera for all those years really make Mark miss out on those little joys? Over the past few weeks he had spent most of his time observing his friends from behind his own sightless eyes.

Mimi held the sweet mixed scent of vanilla and Roger's cologne of old spice. Maureen's different halves varied from the flaunted diva to the compassionate woman she truly was. Joanne had her mother hen qualities of business and strength of comfort. Benny's tones feeling brotherly, jealous, businesslike, and passionate. Collins, the father figure, with his emotional speeches of "right and wrong" as his tone of voice, showing his passion for anarchy, came to make Mark realize how human Thomas Collins really was. Then there was Roger, the zealous songwriter, confused individual, holding the flair of grief of life's past that could never be replaced.

The HIV+ and AIDS stricken, the residents of New York City living a true bohemian life, starving artists, never knowing what life had to offer.

Not really caring  
Because they had each other  
And that's all that mattered.

_Right?_

A gentle squeeze to his right made Mark tense slightly, nearly ready to jump out of his very skin as he shook his head from side to side and cleared his mind just in time to realized what he'd been doing before his thoughts had wandered. He looked to the side, blinking through the raindrops, and found the Roger walking close to his side, holding his upper arm, guiding him through the dark streets.

So lost with the beginning feeling of a single raindrop had made Mark zoned out of his world.

"You all right?" Roger questioned.

Mark knew green eyes were drilling into his very soul, trying to make his heart burst out of his very chest to confess some odd realization of discomfort with their current situation. Hell, who wouldn't be uncomfortable? Less than, what had to be, fifteen minutes had past since their "flight" from the loft, before which had Mark almost-literally tearing his hair out after listening Collins and Benny's failed attempt at the police station. He had truly hit Roger below the belt when he mentioned the musician's departure to Santa Fe and Mimi's disappearance after he left, but there was nothing else Mark could've said that would've helped his chances to look for Tammy.

He hadn't realized they'd stopped until Roger was squeezing his arm again. "Mark? Hey, man, are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"Liar."

Of course, Roger could read him like an open book. There wasn't much to do, Mark knew he couldn't lie to his best friend, but he honestly didn't know what the truth was either. He was just so…_numb_. Everything felt surreal, everything painless and emotionless. All the feeling seems to stream through his veins until there was nothing to think but the task at hand.

Find Tammy.

"Mark?"

"It doesn't make sense, does it?"

"What doesn't?"

"Everything."

"Mark-"

"My mind is telling me that finding Tammy is the right thing to do, but I'm not sure there's anything to that anymore. Everything feels so numb that I'm not sure which of my thoughts are actually coherent enough to be trusted." Mark looked towards the sky, flinching slightly as the raindrops hit him. "Does that make sense?"

"No," Roger sighed, "but I get what you mean."

"How can you?"

"Because I've had it happened to me, Mark." Roger breathed in a deep sigh and Mark tilted his head towards his shadow-formed friend just in time to see Roger run a weary hand through his brown hair. "It's almost like being through withdrawal. Nothing is right, but deep down something's telling you that you're doing the right thing, so you have to keep moving forward even if your want is trying to go the other way."

Mark couldn't help but chuckle. "Maybe we're both confused."

Roger shrugged, sharing the laughter. "Listen, man, there's a _big_ difference between what happened to me a few years ago and what's happening to you right now. You're right when you were talking about Mimi; I never would've forgiven myself if she died that night. If you're going to do this thing with Tammy then we're doing it together."

"Yeah," Mark nodded, "I understand that."

"Good." Roger chuckled again, his hand running through his hair again in a nervous manner. The musician took hold of Mark's upper arm again and guided him along the way through the rainy streets, dodging the slick mud and puddles. "It's just around here, a few more steps."

"Right."

It wasn't an easy thought to figure out where they were going, for Mark's mind still felt fried after having all his memories just come rushing back up to him. They were simply taking their chances by moving to the place where Roger had found Mark four weeks ago, in the alleyway where he had been mugged. Everything, they hoped, would go from there.

_Hell, that'd be too easy to be true._ Mark stifled his laughter at that thought.

How could they forget they were about to barge in on two druggies with a gun? It's simple, they couldn't.

_Way to go Cohen, now you've dragged Roger into this damned mess…_

"Here we go." Roger's voice protruded through Mark's thoughts and suddenly the musician was squeezing his arm reassuringly. Coming to the place where Mark had been found made the whole thing feel even more real than it already was. "You were over here," Roger tugged Mark forward, "in this alley."

The dark in front of Mark's mind made him shiver, and another comforting squeeze came from Roger. Mark stepped forward, not really sure what he was doing, but knowing he was in safe hands with Roger at his side, and tilted his head toward the sky. Everything in front of his face was still so black, not even the shadowed-lines of the figures loomed before his vision as he turned towards Roger's presence. He shook his head, blinking quickly against the rain, and ran a trembling hand through his hair.

He closed his eyes.

"_Cat got your tongue, Cohen? Well, we'll just have to fix that." A blow to the cheek and two to his already bruised side. Mark's glasses flew from his face, a broken mess of glass shattering to the ground. "Better?"_

Frank's voice was slurred, his words spoken through chapped lips that spat beer-infested breath into Mark's face.

"_Stop it!" Tammy scrambled forward, but was held back by Jimmy. She beat her fist against his chubby chest and cried out, "Stop Frank! You'll hurt him! Please, Franks, stop! PLEASE!"_

She didn't know any better. Maybe just by defending him she was endangering herself.

"_It all started when Davis met you." Frank had ignored Tammy's angry rant and cocked the gun. "Well, now it ends here."_

The taste of cool metal burned through Mark's mouth, his head twisting downwards as he blinked back against the rain hitting his face.

"_Say goodbye-"_

"Mark, man, there's nothing here." It was a scary realization that Roger's voice had no body to go with it. Everything was just so _dark_. The rumbling sound to Mark's left made him jump, but as he listened closer he realized it was just Roger moving a dumpster to the side. Roger's voice sounded from the left. "There's no window or anything. Didn't you say that's how you and Tammy got in?"

"Yeah." Mark shook his head, pushing back his memories. "Are you sure this is the right place?"

"Positive." Roger's voice came from his right this time. "This is the alley I found you in when those three were trying to– Mark? What's wrong?"

Mark caught himself. He'd been shivering so hard that he'd been hugging himself. It wasn't that the stormy weather was causing him to become cold, but he'd been shaking from the loneliness he'd suddenly felt without Roger's presence near him.

"I can't see," Mark stated.

"Mark I already know. I'm right here-"

"No." Mark shook his head. "I can't see anything."

"What? I thought-"

"It's too dark, Rog. There's nothing there -not even shadows."

"Here, Mark."

Roger's hands found their way to Mark's chin, moving Mark's head so that he was looking at something in front of his face. Possibly Roger, but Mark still wasn't so sure. He felt the musician's hands move to squeeze his shoulders reassuringly, but what was so reassuring when you couldn't even see what was in front of your own face? Mark squint his eyes through the impending darkness and blinked subtly against the raindrops, searching for any sign of some sort of visual confirmation of Roger.

Nothing.

"_Mark,_" Roger said, "I'm right here. There's nothing wrong, just focus on my voice."

Mark took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay."

"Think, Mark. What happened before you were mugged?"

_Than there was Mark, all alone, stumbling through the streets of Alphabet City with no memory of how he got there and what had happened previously. He knew only a few things: he was hurt and he could not see anything but shadows. Head tilting sideways, Mark used his ears as a guidance as flashes of, what could've been people, wandered past him. His only thought was thinking that he wasn't far off from the loft-_

"I don't know…I was just walking. I didn't know where I was."

_Wetness on his face. New York rain. Mark jolted awake and the only thing he was aware of was the blackness staring down at him and the unbelievable pain coursing throughout his body. Hands reaching out blindly, Mark felt the metal that had to be his camera and held it close to his body. His camera was safe and he was safe. But where was safe?_

"There had to be something."

"No, I was just walking. I knew I was near the loft and I knew it was raining and I couldn't see."

"What about Tammy? Think, Mark. Did she say something?"

"_Anyway, he went on this rage and got a buddy of his, Jimmy, to buy this place-"_

"_And this place is?"_

"_Old bar. We're in the basement."_

"An old bar. The basement, actually." Mark felt himself being along the streets and carefully fell into step with Roger's fast pace. "What are you doing?"

"There's got to be a bar around here somewhere. We're in New York City!"

Mark couldn't help but chuckle at Roger's words. "Where exactly are we? Close to the loft?"

"Yeah…we're not too far."

"Look… I'm sorry for running."

"Don't worry about it."

"Benny and Collins are going to kill us."

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Collins's eyebrow arched in an amused manner as he looked up just in time to see the bottom of Benny's classy black dress shoes, the bottom of them coated with wet mud that he'd been trailing around the loft's wooden floor. The man's foot fell to the ground with a defining _clunk_ as his bald head poked through the doorway of Mark's room, his door having long since smashed to the wall. Frowning, Benny glared as he stalked out of the room and moved to inspect the bathroom before letting out an angry grunt and moving on to check Roger's room.

The two men had gotten back not thirty minutes ago from the police station and found themselves faced with an empty loft. They'd stood frozen at the door for what seemed like ten minutes, staring down at the half-closed metal door holding a struggling Blink in its place as the young pup struggled to worm his way out of the building, only having been got caught by the collar on the tiny lock hook. Enraged, Benny had stormed into the loft in an angry rant while Collins calmly scooped up the bohemian dog and calmly made his way to the soft brown couch, waiting for Benny to calm down as he relished in the fact of the soft cushions he'd yet to truly appreciate.

"Where in the _hell_ are they?" Benny questioned, visibly fuming as he kicked Roger's door to the side and stood in front of Collins and Blink, who continued to sit in a satisfied manner on the couch. "They're gone!"

"Appears so."

"Where would they go?" Benny plopped down on the round coffee table across from the relaxed anarchist, his head falling into his hands as he gingerly rubbed his temple.

"Not sure," Collins replied. He set Blink down on the couch next to him and carefully brought his black knitted head off his head, slowly moving it over the floorboard and wringing it out, careful not to get the water on the couch and other furniture. He looked down and frowned at the wet spot he'd made on their black carpet. Looking up, stifling his laughter at Benny's stunned expression, Collins questioned, "Too noticeable?"

"What?" Benny coughed, staring blankly at the dark spot on the carpet.

"Noticeable. Is it noticeable?" Collins wrung his hat out once more before deftly fixing it back over his head. "It'll probably dry anyway. Who notices what's on a black carpet? Right?"

"Why the hell are you so calm?" Benny questioned, jumping up. "They're _gone_!"

"We shouldn't have left that message on the machine." Collins gestured to the light on the loft's answering machine. "Hell, Roger and Mark probably already knew the police weren't going to do anything."

Benny glared. "What are you talking about?"

"Leaving Mark with Roger probably wasn't such a good idea either." Collins's face scrunched up in deep concentration as he delicately pushed Blink off the couch and listened to the pup's claws clattering on the floorboards. He absently looked to Benny and said, "Probably wasn't Roger's idea anyway…"

"They're both nuts!" Benny exclaimed, hands rising into the air in a defeated manner. "Both so _fuckin_' nuts!"

"Probably."

"They could get hurt!"

"Most likely."

"_Killed_ even!"

"Hopefully not."

"They'd better not," Benny snarled, "because then I won't get a chance to wring their necks!"

Collins shook his head. "Fuckin' nuts."

"Idiots."

"Assholes."

"Crazy."

"Psychotic."

"Bastards."

Collins looked down and frowned. "And they know exactly what they're getting in to."

_Ruff! Ruff!_ Blink barked, teeth bared, some sort of paper sticking out of his mouth. _Ruff! Ruff!_

Benny, who had been pacing, tracking even more mud across the floor, looked down and arched a brow. "What are you talking about now? We've got to find them!"

Calmly, Collins bent over and picked Blink up into his arms, cradling the brown bundle of joy in his arms before plucking the crumpled, soggy piece of "paper" from the dog's jaws. He wordlessly shoved Blink into Benny's arms, ignoring the man's protests, and hopped off the couch to move toward the large window, looking for the bright light of the shimmering moon.

"What is that?" Benny questioned, pushing himself forward, Blink still in his arms. "It was on the ground, wasn't it?"

"Yeah." Collins nodded absently. He held the thin paper a few inches in front of him and furrowed his eyebrows in concentrations. "Holy shit…"

"What?" Benny questioned, eyes widening in curiosity. "What is it?"

Turning slightly, the moonlight bouncing perfectly off his masculine form, Collins placed the thin object between his fingers as if he were showing a poker card. He flashed the picture to Benny and smiled. "April and Tammy Carson."

"Holy shit," Benny whispered, mimicking Collins. "His memory was-"

"-right on." Collins finished, shaking his head. "Can't believe it."

"I didn't want to believe it." Benny frowned. "What's that on the back?"

"A note to Mark-"

The lights flickered suddenly.

Darkness…

"What happened?"

"Power went out."

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Roger wiped a hand through his hair for, what seemed like, the fiftieth time that day. He stifled down his rising cough, not wanting to alarm Mark, and tightened his hold on his best friend's shoulder before sidestepping a manhole and abandoned hotdog stand. There hardly seemed time to talk as his eyes wavered uncertainly against the pouring New York rain and looked towards the various buildings lining the streets. Hell, the only reason Roger was so happy for the rain was because it seemed all the muggers and druggies had taken shelter elsewhere, leaving a free walking space. Still, Roger was extra cautious, for rain also meant them to be an easier target to other muggers who found it easier to attack in such weather conditions.

_Terrific,_ Roger thought to himself sarcastically,_ just keep thinking those "positive" thoughts and this will be fine._

He felt Mark tense next to him as they brushed past a newspaper stand, the blond apparently still giddy from his adrenaline rush. Not that Roger could really blame him, it was quite an ordeal. There was still a matter of where they were going and what they would do once they got there. Not to mention the fact that Jimmy and Frank supposedly still had a gun.

Biting his lip, trying to escape his fleeing thoughts, Roger turned his head left and right, still looking for some sort of bar…

_Could that be it? Was it really _that_ simple?_

_Hell, it was close enough to be-_

"Rog?" Mark's voice broke through his thoughts. "Why'd we stop? Do you see something?"

"A bar." Roger blinked. "There's a bar over here. Do you think that could be it?"

"Not sure." Mark sighed. "This'll be the sixth one."

"There are a lot of bars in this part of town." Roger shrugged, his voice was confident. "It's got to be this one."

"I think it's supposed to be a rundown bar. Druggies and drunkards come there to-"

"-to escape their problems and pain." Roger took a deep breath, suddenly flashing back to his past life with the Well Hungarians. "It's this one, man. It has to be."

Mark tensed even more. "Jimmy's bar?"

"Could it really be _that_ simple?"

Roger's voice was a whisper, voicing his previous thought. He slowly led Mark into the alleyway and searched around the two walls, knocking on the dirty, rotting brick as if it was a giant door that would open at his very touch. Shaking his head, Roger took a moment to slow down his beating heart and tried again, this time more slowly. Squinting through the rain and darkness, Roger found that the brick wall was as dark as ever, the cement hard and chipped, the dumpster-

_Wait! Dumpster!_

"Holy shit…" Roger trailed off, eyes widening by the second, as he released Mark's arm from his grasp and, with great effort, pushed the dumpster to the side. Eyes wavered, his whole body swayed and Roger let a sly grin plaster his face as he looked to the sight in front of his eyes. "Holy shit," he repeated in a glorious tone. He looked towards the frozen blond and wrapped a delicate hand around his wrist before gently tugging him so that he was crouching down on the ground next to him. Smiling, Roger took Mark's hand and lifted it up to feel the cold, wet glass that was the window. "Recognize this?"

"A window." Mark's shoulders sagged. He repeated, "Could it really be that simple?"

"Nothing's simple," Roger said, "but at least it's a start."

The window had indeed been there. It had been Jimmy's bar.

Where the Well Hungarians had their first gig.

Where Roger and Mark first met.

Where they worked together.

_Nothing's simple._

The window was boarded up, only a tiny crack of the windowpane showing through the top. Roger dropped lower to the ground, his hands moving to shade his eyes from the pounding rain as he crouched down just deep enough to peek through the tiny crack in the boards. Clearing whatever was stuck in his throat, Roger straightened and brought his sleeve down so he could wipe away the dirt and water that caked the glass. Adrenaline pulsing through his veins, Roger ducked again and peered through the glass-

Mark seemed to sense what he was doing. "What do you see?"

"Jeezus, man…" Roger took a deep breath.

"Roger? What is it?"

"It's Tammy." Roger chuckled suddenly, something fluttering in his stomach that he hadn't realized had been there. "It's Tammy!" he repeated, unable to stop the excitement from brushing across his features. "Holy shit!"

Had Roger not seen it with his very own eyes, granted they were blurred against the rain, Roger would've thought himself to be on smack again. He peered through the window again and delved deeper into the dark surroundings of the bar's basement. He remembered that place; he'd taken about twenty groupie girls down there before the Well Hungarians moved to a better bar.

"How is she?" Mark questioned, suddenly very frightened and excited at the same time. "Is she all right?"

"She looks…" Roger trailed off as he squint his eyes again.

Inside the dark basement he could barely make out the hunched brown-haired girl was curled up on a duct-taped couch in the middle of the concrete room. In a sense, she seemed fine, but as Roger peered closer to her shivering body, bruised form, and tearstained face, he couldn't help stop a frown from rising against his lips. She sat in front of a large makeshift fireplace made from burning wood and a small metal garbage can, and it seemed as if about five holes in the ceiling produced a tiny leak to drip water into the room. The murky water looked to be building slowly.

"Rog, the window's boarded up." Roger turned to find Mark running his hands across the damp wood. "Can you break it open?"

Roger nodded, inwardly slapping himself as he realized Mark's visual status. "I think I can." He dug through his jean pocket and produced the Swiss Army knife Collins had got him for his birthday a few years earlier. The knife seemed to be rusted, but the wood hanging the before the window didn't exactly seem too strong. Roger held the knife out before him and carefully tried to pry the nails out of the wood-

"Hello?" A voice said. "Is somebody there?"

"Shit," Roger grumbled to himself, turning around expect to see some homeless person noisy enough to wonder what they were doing in the middle of the alleyway. "Look…" Roger trailed off, eyes narrowing as he turned to find nobody there.

"Hello?" The voice was louder. "Is somebody there?"

"Tammy!" Mark yelled suddenly. "Tammy, are you all right?"

"Mark?" Tammy whispered. "Mark, I told you to forget about me."

Mark grumbled, "I did." And Roger would've chuckled, had their situation been different.

"What are you doing here?" Tammy yelled. "You'll be in a lot of trouble once Jimmy and Frank find you!"

Roger peered between the cracks and smiled slightly as he saw Tammy's head perked up slightly. "Tammy girl…" he whispered, eyes glimmering. Her eyes turned toward him and suddenly she hopped off the couch and ran through the ankle-deep water. She reminded Roger of April, her passionate green eyes and similar hairstyle. "Tammy," he said, voice clearing, "are you all right?"

Tammy seemed to have climbed up onto a box. Her voice was muffled against the glass that Roger had to strain to hear her cracked voice say, "Roger Davis, is that you?"

"Are you all right?" Roger repeated.

"Yeah," Tammy said, "I am now. Where's Mark?"

"He's with me," Roger replied. The crack was only big enough that at that distance they could only see each other's eyes. "Where are Jimbo and Frank?"

"Out to get some smack from The Man."

"In this weather?" Mark questioned.

"When you need it you need it." Roger sighed, shaking his head at the thought. "How long have they been gone?"

"An hour, I think." Tammy frowned. "What are you doing here? You'd better leave! You'll get caught!"

"We're not leaving without you." Roger said, "Stand back, Tammy. I've nearly got this wood down."

"They could be back any minute!"

"All the more reason to hurry." Roger placed his knife near the head of the next nail, grunting as he struggled to pry it out. "Can you push out the wood from your end?"

"There's glass!"

"Can you break it?"

"What about-"

"Tammy!" Roger yelled. "I don't know how much time we have! _Can you break the glass_?"

"I think…"

"Try!"

"Calm down Rog." Mark's hand made its way to Roger's shoulder. "She's scared," he whispered. "You can't blame her."

"No," Tammy whispered. "He's right. I'm sorry."

"I didn't mean to snap." Roger sighed, prying off the next nail.

Mark leaned forward, careful not to get in the way of Roger's actions. "Listen to my voice, Tammy. Just listen to me and we'll take you through this. All right?"

"Right." Tammy nodded. "Mark," she whispered suddenly, "I thought you died when you fell…"

"You couldn't kill me that easily." Mark smiled. "It just knocked me out. Selective amnesia and visual impairment."

"Which is why he couldn't remember where you were," Roger explained with a grunt, struggling with another nail as he tossed the third piece of wood to the side. "We would've been here soon, but things were happening that we couldn't control-"

"It doesn't matter," Tammy whispered. "You're here now."

"We'll get you out of here Tammy." Mark's voice was confident. "Don't give up. Not again."

"I just-"

"No," Mark shook his head. "Don't explain yourself. Don't apologize."

"It's been-"

"Think of right now Tammy," Mark interjected again. "We're here now, like you said. We'll help."

Another wood down. One more to go.

Their eyes met: Mark's sightless blue ones and Tammy's glimmering green ones.

"Mark…." Tammy gulped. "Thanks for-"

Mark shook his head, cutting her off. "Don't. You don't have to."

"There." Roger tossed the last piece of wood away peered at the glass between them.

Tammy frowned suddenly. "I can't break it. I'm shaking too much…I-I'm so cold…."

"It's all right." Roger grabbed on of the wooden planks he'd dropped. "Stand back, Tammy." He watched as she hopped off the box and fell back into the building water before moving back slightly until she was far enough away. Nodding confidently, Roger carefully guided Mark back a few steps and told him to stand back so he could break the glass.

_Whack!_ One swing.

Small dent, nothing noticeable.

_Whack! _Second swing.

A crack.

_Whack!_ Third swing.

Frustration building. The crack deepened.

_Whack!_ Fourth swing.

More cracks. Roger grunted.

_Whack!_

Fifth time's the charm.

_CRASH!_

_Plop. Plop. Plop._

Tiny shards hit the water and Roger fell to his behind as he dropped his sore arm down and didn't even bother to stifle his cough. Luckily Mark didn't seem to notice it. Roger looked to Tammy, her green eyes wide in surprise, almost as if she thought the whole thing wasn't even real. "Watch your feet," Roger said, "Some of the glass got down there. I don't want you to cut yourself."

"We all know that would be a shame, eh?"

_Shit._

"Couldn't have guessed this. Could you, Frank?"

Roger turned; inwardly he cursed himself to oblivion. Standing before him were Jimmy and Frank, his old band mate's hand settled on Mark's shoulder as the blond filmmaker trembled against Frank's touch. "Let him go," Roger growled. He stepped forward, his hold on the wooden plank in his hand tightening.

"I'd be loosening that board if I were you, Davis." Jimmy snickered.

Frank stepped forward, bloodshot eyes crazed, and fell into a light that illuminated the druggie with his true hold on the back of Mark's shirt as a gun pushed to the filmmaker's temple.

_Clunk…_

The wood dropped from Roger's grasp.


	15. Perspective

**Chapter Fifteen: Perspective**

Contrary to the situation she was currently faced with, Mimi was tired. The young dancer flipped and flopped in her bed, changing sleeping positions from stomach, back, and side, and even moved from the somewhat comfortable guest bedroom mattress to the cold carpeted floor before trying to stay in the pullout futon she'd wrestled from the closet. Nothing worked. Mimi let out a frustrated sigh and ungracefully kicked her blankets to the side as she sat up in bed and pulled her knees closer to her chest. Cursing the clock showing 2:34 AM, Mimi swung her legs over the side of the bed and drew a wool blanket around her shuddering shoulders before pushing the door open and wandering out into the hallway.

The three women-Mimi, Maureen, and Joanne-had arrived at the tiny apartment almost hours ago and, for a while, they'd sat in an uneasy silence trying to come up with a topic of discussion. Their first Girl's Night Out had been such a success, but, now, none of the women had their heart set into a night of relaxation when the words of Collins' speech still burned through their mind. Even Maureen wasn't her usual perkiness, the drama queen always one to be the light in the dark with her immature banters and slurs. However, after an hour of just being in each other's companies as they mutely drank their beer, the three women had unanimously decided to call it a night. Each unknowingly fell into their restless night sleeps with a terrible thought on their minds, though none of them knew what was wrong.

They just _knew_ something was wrong.

Hell, how could it not be wrong after what Mimi had just witness between Collins, Roger, and Benny.

Mimi cringed as her bare feet padded through the wooden floorboards of Maureen and Joanne's hallway, her teeth biting down her bottom lip from yelling out loud at the coldness entering her body. She drew the wool blanket closer around her body and quietly walked past the lover's bedroom door, for Mimi did not want to walk in on something personal or wake her friends from their slumber just because she couldn't sleep. No, Mimi walked on and soon stumbled through the small kitchen until she was in the living room.

_Crash! _The thunder outside made Mimi cringe.

_Click. Click. Click. _The light switch wasn't working and the living room was captured in darkness of the night light. With only the illumination of the moon and, occasionally, the flashes of lightning, guiding her, Mimi stumbled over the change from wooden floorboards to carpeted floor as she moved into the living room and fell comfortably onto the floor in front of the windowsill's bench. Tugging her blanket closer around her body, Mimi gently leaned forward and stared out in the night sky, at once she was getting lost in the pounding rain and booming thunder as flashes upon flashes of lightning lit up the darkened New York sky. The sight was nothing compared to that of the loft's, but it would have to do for now.

"_You call yourselves friends? Well I have news for you! Friends do not find an argument over petty subjects every five seconds. Friends don't throw shit into other people's laps. Friends understand each other and try to help each other. Friends are our family. Is this what family means to you?_"

Mimi frowned, unable to stop Collins's words from returning to her mind again. Shaking her head, Mimi looked up with glazed brown eyes and continued to stare out the window. A lone tear fell from her eyes, unexpectedly at best, but Mimi did nothing to stop it as she leaned into the bench, her heart in her chest beating excitedly.

Had they really made the mistake to forget about their friends?

"_Don't let this family die, because it sure as hell seems like you're willing to._"

After everything that happened the past two years before, thinking over it now, it did seem like they were taking everything they learned for granted. Everything was settling for Mimi though, Roger was her soul mate and she was able to get off of drugs with her friends' help. All the things that had happened just seemed to fall into place… Didn't they?

"Mimi?"

Turning slightly, Mimi's tear long since disappeared down her chin, Mimi found herself looking into the eyes of a fatigued-looking Maureen Johnson. The diva was clad in a long t-shirt that reached past her knees and her curly brown hair was frazzled to the point of standing a few inches off her head as her mouth opened into a large yawn.

"Maureen," Mimi greeted.

She'd never really spent any alone time with the older woman, mostly she was with her and Joanne at the same time, but Mimi had gotten a few details from Roger. Maureen Johnson, revealed lesbian, ex-girlfriend of Mark Cohen, and peppy woman beyond the usual realization. However, lately it seemed, she'd been hanging out with Maureen more and more. They had fixed up the loft together. There had been a soft side to Maureen, Mimi had found out, but it took time to get it out.

"You couldn't sleep either?"

Mimi nodded.

_Click. Click. Click. _The light switch.

"Oh…is the power out?"

"Mm-hmm."

Mimi heard Maureen hesitate slightly before walking deeper into the living room and plopping down gracefully onto the windowsill, rotating slightly to the side so she could sit in an Indian-style position and was still facing Mimi. Pursing her lips slightly, Maureen questioned, "What are you doing?"

Mimi simply shrugged her shoulders. Her pinky was extracted to gently press against the glass of the window as she cautiously traced a small water droplet as it moved down the window and joined with another droplet before disappearing down the ledge. She repeated the process with several more droplets, an uneasy silence looming over the two women. Neither knew what conversation to start up, except for the obvious one, and the two didn't know how to broach that certain delicate topic.

"I used to do this when I was a little girl."

Turning at Maureen's sudden confession, Mimi saw that the diva was tilting her head and peering out the window with narrowed eyes, a serious expression lacing her happy-go-lucky features. "Used to do what?" Mimi finally questioned after a moments of silence. "Get up late at night?"

Maureen shook her head. "My mother was a nurse and my father ran a business that required his attention almost twenty-four seven, so, most days and nights, I was stuck in the house by myself. Even when it was storming all hell outside, they'd leave me to myself. Not that I was really scared of being home alone. My parents dubbed me old enough to stay alone while they were out working."

"Home without your parents? Sounds fun."

"Most of the times it was, but I wasn't allowed to leave the house, so I had to entertain myself." Maureen let out a small smile and suddenly Mimi was aware of how her diva friend got into acting. "I'd watch the old movies and soon I'd be reciting all the lines from memory, which then got me to memorize all the strong gestures and different tones in their voice. When it was raining, and the power was out, I'd sit by the window and watch the racing drops."

"Racing drops?"

"The raindrops of the window." Maureen pointed to them. "It's like a race. I'd keep track of about four of them at the same time and I'd watch them race to see which was faster to go down the glass. I entertained myself." She looked down, head tilted. "Is that what you're doing?"

"Entertaining myself?" A pause. "Something like that…"

_Did thinking about the past count as entertaining yourself?_

"Stop that."

Mimi blinked, jumping from her thoughts. "Stop, what?"

"Thinking."

"I'm not-"

"Yeah you are." Maureen gave a small smile. "I can tell… So, stop. We've all been thinking too much these days."

Mimi frowned. "You're not worried?"

"Of course I am." Maureen leaned into the wall behind her and gently scooted over so Mimi could sit across from her on the tiny bench. She drew up her legs and comfortably laid her chin on her knees. "I feel like an idiot for the way I acted before. Sometimes I get so caught up in what's happening that I don't really realize what's _happening_… You know?"

"It happened in the past. It's not worth thinking about."

"If it's about something that helps you learn for the future, than it should be worth it." Maureen tilted her head and looked out the window. "Everything had been so screwed up before, when I was with Mark and Joanne. I never realized how _real_ everything was until I stopped thinking about myself and started looking at other people's emotions…started realize how _hurt_ everybody else was."

"We learned a lot over those two years."

"I guess we just…forgot…" Maureen frowned. "I don't want this family to die."

"Neither do I."

XXXXXXXX

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_SLAP!_

Roger bit his lip from screaming out as the wooden plank he had just dropped came back full force to hit him across the face. It had drawn across his right cheek, leaving a red scratch as Roger fell to the floor. He fell to the alley's wet ground and coughed up whatever was building in his throat as he gritted his teeth at Jimmy's laughter. There was a time and place to let loose his anger and frustration on the old barkeep, and, looking to see Mark with a gun to his temple, Roger decided another time would come. Another blow came to his stomach as the chubby body of Jimmy Tank swam through his vision, but Roger refused to scream out. No matter what, Roger wouldn't give the two druggies the simple pleasure to see him in pain.

Gritting his teeth, Roger turned his head and blinked through the raindrops hitting his face as he came to stare into the cold eyes of Jimmy. The old barkeep certainly had done a number on himself since Roger had last seen him, right before the Well Hungarians moved from his bar. How the man hooked up with Frank, through drugs or some kind of gang, Roger did not want to know. Thinning brown hair lined the chubby man's head, hair patted down carelessly trying to cover up the bald patch building as large dilated brown eyes wavered unstably.

Frank, on the other hand, was just the same as Roger had remembered. The guitar player and him had never been close with each other, even while they were in the band, but they'd toughed it out because their music didn't sound good without their sounds meshed together. Still, each held a deep loathing for each other. Roger thought of Frank as a bigoted bastard who didn't care about their music, but solely focused on the groupies, drugs, and rowdy lifestyle that came with being a musician. The man simply had no heart.

Apparently that fact hadn't changed over the years.

Eyes glazing over as another raindrop pounded across his face and hit his red scar, suddenly sensitive as he wiped a finger across the cut and wiped the crimson blood on the leg of his pants, Roger looked to see Frank run a hand through his hair and peer down at him with a malicious grin. As much as he hated to admit it, but, with Roger on the floor and Frank illuminated in the flashes of lightning with a gun held in his hand, the scrawny druggie looked inferior compared to him.

"Can't be leavin' the damned scene out in the open." Jimmy coughed, giving Roger a good kick in the side. "Catch yer breath there Davis, head into the damned window you broke and step back to the wall. Got it?"

Not trusting whatever was going to come out of his mouth, Roger nodded and shimmied his way into the window and cautiously moved one leg at a time into the frigid basement. The water lining the floor reached a few inches above his black boot and splashed as he stepped across the concrete and moved deeper into the room. It wasn't very well illuminated, especially considering the time of day, and the only thing Roger could really make out was the couch in the back, but that was only because Tammy's makeshift fireplace stood in front of it.

"Get movin' Davis," Jimmy poked the wood into his back, roughly pushing Roger toward the wall, "and don't be trying nothing."

The beer-stained breath nearly made Roger retch as he stumbled forward through the darkness of the basement, the only thing reaching him and making everything around him real was the _slush, slush, slush_ of his steps moving through the sheet of water below his feet. Soon a tentative hand was on his shoulder guiding him through the darkness, and Roger looked down to see the glazed eyes of Tammy trailed on him. She gave him a small nod as they traveled the short distance to the basement wall and turned around to stand against it, elbows near each other in reassuring contact.

It felt like they were in a shooting line, and they were the obvious targets.

_Crash…_ Roger's head whipped to the side just in time to see Mark stumbling over his own two feet as the blond filmmaker fell face-first into the basement, his hands catching him just in time before he could land his face plant. Mark coughed roughly as Frank kicked him solidly in the gut, causing him to fall onto his face anyway, and had Frank bending down low enough to whisper a few words into his ears. No matter how much Roger leaned in, the musician couldn't hear the exchange of words, he just watched as Mark shook his head and earned himself another kick to the torso.

"Don't…"

The soft-spoken whisper to Roger's side, which only could've came from Tammy, made Roger realize how hard he was clenching his fist. He squint his eyes against the darkness and frowned as he looked at his palm and found the small nail marks digging into his skin. Tammy touched his shoulder again and suddenly, his mind moving quickly, Roger jerked away subtly. "Don't," he said, "I'm bleeding…"

Giving a gentle nod, Tammy's eyes told him she understood his hesitation. Roger's cheek was bleeding and he was HIV, even in that dire situation he didn't want to worry about getting other innocent people infected with the disease.

"Get up!" Frank was yelling, a small yelp eliciting from Mark's mouth. It looked as if Mark had had the same idea as Roger, don't let them hear you cry out in pain, but the filmmaker just couldn't stop it as he was hit over the head with the gun. "Get up and join your friends!"

"Stop!" Roger shouted, he stepped forward and received a hit from the wooden plank by Jimmy that sent him to the ground clutching his stomach as he gritted his teeth in pain. Tammy fell down next to him, not touching him as per his request, as she shot him a worried look. Roger wasn't looking at her though, for his eyes were trailed on the broken filmmaker in front of him. "He can't see!"

Jimmy chuckled; he bent down and scooped something from the ground. "Are these his?" he questioned, dangling a broken pair of black-rimmed glasses, the instrument soaked through and cracked. Had they been there all that time since Mark left? "No wonder he can't see," Jimmy slurred, he tossed them wordlessly to Mark's feet. "Here ya go…"

Roger bit his lip, eyes closing for a second as he struggled to control his erratic heartbeat. "He's visually impaired."

Turning slightly, eyebrow arching, Jimmy questioned, "Visuallyimpaired? Wha's that shit about?"

"Means he can't see, idiot." Frank mumbled, crouching down in front of Mark and tilting his head down expectantly. Mark didn't do anything against the movement, though Roger guessed it was because he was too scared, not because he couldn't see. Grabbing Mark's chin roughly, forcing his glazed blue eyes to look up, Frank frowned and shouted back, "There's nothing wrong with him! He's can't be blind."

"Not blind. Visually impaired." Roger gritted his teeth. "He can see shadows, but it's too dark for him to see anything."

"Same damned thing," Frank growled, he pushed Mark's chin away and waved the gun at Roger. "Well, Davis, he's your friend. Help him."

Without warning, Frank grabbed a fistful of Mark's hair and hauled the filmmaker to his feet, a smile growing on his face as Mark hissed. Moving quickly and roughly, Frank pushed Mark into Roger's arms and laughed as Mark stumbled backward and fell into Roger's chest. Turning his friend around to face him, Roger squeezed Mark's shoulders reassuringly. "Hey, Mark. It's me, man, Roger." The musician squeezed again, unhappy that Mark was still as tense as ever. "Mark?"

Mark seemed to chuckle and smile, the expression not meeting his sightless eyes. "We're in deep shit, aren't we?"

"Mark-"

A nudge to the back cut Roger off as he was pushed forward to the wall of the basement, once again standing alongside Tammy, Mark taking his place own place by standing on his other side. The two druggies stood before them, one swaying from one foot to the next as he drunkenly mumbled a few incoherent words under his breath, and, the second, pacing the length of the basement in an annoyed manner as he scratched his temple with the gun, finger careful not to set anything off.

Jimmy mocked, "_He won't say anything about this if he knows what's good for him._ Still think that, Frank?" Frank glared, eyes narrowing dangerously as the grip he had on the gun tightened. Roger wasn't sure if Jimmy was too drunk to notice or what, but it seemed as if Frank was going to shoot him if he didn't shut up. "Well! Hold up your end of the deal! Shoot the girl!"

This request made Tammy shiver up, her body going tense at Roger's side as she held in a tight gasp. They wouldn't do that, would they? Would they sink so low from kidnappers to murder? Hell, Mark did tell Roger about them killing Tony…

"Calm down," Roger whispered, trying to reassure the young woman, "they wouldn't do anything."

"They would." Tammy nodded numbly. "They did."

That was when Roger finally noticed the red patch growing on Tammy right shoulder, a bundle of cloth tied together in some sort of makeshift bandage as the crimson red soaked through easily. Mumbling a curse, Roger took the wound in his hand gently and prodded it experimentally, though; she didn't seem to notice what he had done. "Are you all right?" he questioned worriedly. "Does it hurt?"

Tammy shook her head, glazed eyes seemed to be in a trance-like state. "No…well, maybe…I think it's the shock of it all. It was a knife though, not a bullet."

"It should be hurting like hell," Roger muttered. "It will when this is all over."

"It's all talk," Tammy whispered back. "There's been a lot of that going on lately. Sometime you've just got to face the facts and understand that things don't come that easily anymore. Maybe we'll get out of this…maybe not… When your hope goes away there isn't much left to hold onto." Wordlessly, Mark reached out his hand and held Tammy's. Tammy looked up and smiled feverishly. "Does that hope come back when everything seems hopeless?"

_Shit_, Roger thought to himself, _she's not thinking straight anymore. Mark said one year though, for one year she's been down here with these bastards. After so much time of being locked up to fetch those drugs, how does your hope stay alive? Especially in a situation like this…_

_BOOM! _Another followed quickly. _BOOM!_

Tammy screamed.

On instinct, Roger placed his hands on Mark and Tammy's shoulder and pulled them down to the ground roughly as the gunshot sound floated through the air. He looked up, albeit hesitatingly, and found the cowering tubby form of Jimmy on the ground, hands on top of his head as he looked up with wide eyes. Falling to the floor drunkenly, Jimmy held himself up by the arms and gave Frank a devilish glare.

"What the _hell_ was that!" he shouted. "You could'a killed me!"

"What. A. Waste." Frank said slowly, his tone challenging. "Get up, you tub of lard."

Looking up slowly, to where they just stood, Roger's eyes widened as he realized the bullet that had just been fired off would've hit him in the face if he hadn't ducked when he did. The expression on Tammy's face made him realize she knew what he was thinking, and Mark just sat there, on his knees, shaking.

_Of course he is Davis! Don't be an idiot! He's as good as blind right now. He doesn't know what's going on!_ Roger mumbled a curse as he placed a reassuring hand on Mark's shoulder. "Mark, you all right?"

"No."

"Are you hurt?"

"No." Mark shook his head. "Shit, Rog-"

"I know…"

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

_Shit, Cohen. You are in deep shit…_

The gunshot, Tammy's yell, Jimmy laughing, and Frank's hissing threats of a painful death- they all brought memories of _that_ night. Mark was vaguely aware of how hard he was shaking, and he attempted to calm himself for the sake of Roger's worriment and Tammy's fear, but he couldn't stop the convulsions from overtaking his body as he remained on his knees. The gentle squeeze of the arm to Mark's right made him look up, his eyes meeting nothing but the darkness of his vision, the entire darkness that had darkened Mark's very nightmares for the past month.

This blackness was different. This blackness was…

_Blind._

Everything was gone. Mark could see _nothing_. It was different than being out in the alleyway with Roger, his vision already fading to the nothingness that it truly was, for it was here, in the basement, that Mark actually felt like he could see nothing. Shaking his head, the soft whispers of Roger floating in and out his ear as thoughts pounded through his overflowing mind, Mark widened his eyes despite the pain burning through him. He tried to look at something. _Anything_. The movement only caused his eyes to water though, from tears or the strain Mark did not want to know the answer. Finally, Mark deflated, his heartbeat physically pounding against his chest as he continued to shake his head in defeat.

"Come on, man, stand up. Calm down."

"It's messed up, isn't it?" Mark questioned, blinking against the nothingness. He tilted his head to where he felt Roger's presence and gave a small smile as he felt his friend haul him to his feet and push him back against the concrete wall of the basement. Tammy was nearby, she had to be, but Mark figured she didn't seem to notice. She was probably just as phased about this as he was right now. "Really messed up, Rog…"

"We'll be all right. Just think positive-"

"What's so positive about this?"

"We're in this together. We'll live through it together."

Roger sounded so sure of himself. Mark frowned.

"I got you into this mess, and I can't get you out."

A hand went under his chin and forced Mark to look up. He could just imagine the piercing green eyes trailing into his very core as Roger squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and whispered, "You don't need to take care of me. It's my turn to look after you-"

Mark nodded. He listened stonily to the words floating through his ears, knowing Roger didn't expect him to answer back but just listen and hang on to the reality of their surrounding -however bad it may be. That's what Mark did though; he respected and trusted Roger like no other, and if Roger thought this would help Mark would listen for eternity. It did seem to help though, for Mark's heartbeat had calmed to a dull thump and the darkness began to become more comfortable, albeit it was still a scary notion not being able to see anything. Nevertheless, soon the whispers had to stop. Granted, Mark knew Roger was trying his best to comfort him and Tammy, they were still in the dire situation of two druggies with a gun.

Gentle squeezes on the arm would have to do.

"Mark," Tammy's whisper came anyway. She reached over and touched his shoulder. "You shouldn't have come-"

"Shhh," Roger hissed, trying to intervene an apology. "Plenty of time to talk later."

Mark ignored Roger though. He knew, for a hardcore fact, if Mark was in Tammy's position -which he felt he was because he dragged Roger into this- Mark would _need_ to hear comforting words. Just like Roger gave him. The filmmaker reached over blindly, Tammy's hand soon finding their way to intertwine with his fingers. He whispered softly, barely audible, "What I'd do for a friend…"

He didn't have to see it. Mark could _feel_ Tammy's smile.

"Hate to break this love fest kiddies," the harsh snap of Frank as alcohol-infested breath reared through their nostrils and caused Mark to pale, "but we've got business to attend to now that we've got some good friends here again."

Tammy's hand was ripped from Mark, and Mark let his hand, now feeling as empty as ever, fall blandly to his side. A squeeze from Roger made him square his shoulders though, and soon he could feel Frank's presence in front of him. Frank was inches from his face, Mark could tell from the smell, and he had the harsh breathing of an angry man. Could Mark blame him? He and Roger had just ruined Frank's _simple_ plan of threatening Tammy.

"Got somethin' to say for yourself Cohen?" Frank questioned; his voice a low and threatening whisper. It just egged Mark on to counter back with a hard punch to the nose, a kind flip of the bird, or even a muttered curse in Hebrew. "Ol' bastard's right, ya know?" Frank meant Jimmy. "We warned you not to come back and be a hero or else we'd kill her… I thought you'd keep your end of the promise but I guess some things are too good to be true. Heh…"

"Leave him alone." Roger was in front of him immediately, the movement causing Mark to be squished against his best friend's back and the wall behind him. "Take your fight with me Frank. It's what you've been waiting for, isn't it?"

The words of Roger made Mark frown, deeply. Roger was enticing Frank, trying to figure out if the druggie would really try something, and it was working on Frank. They all knew it. Even Jimmy had shut up long enough to hear the exchange of the two old band mates, interested immensely in an upcoming brawl, bloodshed, or, possibly, both.

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

"Open your eyes!"

"We're going to get killed like this!"

"We're making record time."

"That's because you've broken at least five laws!"

"Relax, you're fine."

"You killed that old homeless lady!"

"She got right back up. Jeez, breathe a little."

Benny opened his eyes and right away his hands flew to the sides so he could hold onto the tiny handle that was near his seat. Collins seemed to be reaching speed with his Range Rover that Benny never thought to be possible. He looked to his side and nearly blanched as the car did a dramatic turn around another street and sped down through the city streets, two wheels hopping onto the sidewalk as Collins maneuvered the car hastily. Now, Benny did want to get to the police station real quick to warn the officers what had happened to Roger and Mark, but he did not want to die in his car.

"SLOW DOWN!" Benny yelled, watching with wide eyes as the speedometer hit marks that no car should make in New York City. It was only lucky for them that it was 3 o'clock in the morning and the roads were mostly empty.

"We'll be there in a few seconds," Collins yelled back, the sides of his lip arching in a smile that made Benny squirm. "Think if we had walked it would've taken us too long to get to the police station instead of the seconds we're wasting right now."

"What the hell do you mean wasting? We're almost going 80 MPH!"

"I think you're exaggerating a bit, Benny. Looks like we're nearly hitting 90..." Benny glared and Collins smiled cheekily. "You know, man," Collins said happily as he tapped the steering wheel, "I really need to get my license."

"You don't have a valid driver's license?!"

"Of course not. I never took the time to learn to drive!" Collins laughed.

Benny blinked. "There are some things you just need to keep to yourself-"

Collins chuckled good-naturedly; he turned the wheel down another corner and honked at a tiny Hyundai as its flashing lights signaled it about to come out of the parking spot. Collins gave a small wave as they passed, missing the other care by mere inches, and Benny looked over just in time to see the young man flip them off and drive the other way.

"How in the hell can you be so calm?" Benny yelled, wincing as he smacked his arm against the door handle to his right. "We're going to the police station for specific reasons that…oh, let's see…Mark and Roger are going to get _killed!"_

"They are not going to get killed." Collins said, his eyes wavering around the streets. "We'll get to the station and we'll get help."

"We just got back from there and they didn't believe us. Don't think they will now-"

"Ahhh, my good man, but before we didn't have this," Collins reached into his jacket pocket-

"DON'T LET GO! TWO HANDS ON THE WHEEL!" Benny flung himself over and grabbed the spinning devise as Collins calmly poked through his jacket pockets and mumbled something about _"maybe I left it at the loft… damn it…" _as he patted down his pockets. Watching with wide eyes and a beating heart, Benny watched as Collins looked down to the floor of the Range Rover and reach down blindly where the pedals were. "WHAT THE HELL! TAKE THE WHEEL!"

"Here it is!" Collins came up, head mindful of the steering wheel above him that Benny still held. He took the steering wheel calmly, not really paying attention to the fact that they'd hit a stack of newspapers that was lying on the curb. "Look here," Collins shoved something into Benny's hands, "this baby will help our argument."

Benny held the picture out in front of him, squinting in the little amount of light. It was the picture of Tammy and April, the note to Mark on the back scrawled in the woman's quick handwriting. "The picture…"

"Right in one!" Collins chuckled to himself. "Tammy told Mark she got kidnapped! They'll have to check out the place now!"

Arching a brow, Benny questioned, "What place? We still don't know where they are! Could be on Staten Island for all we know."

"Of course not." Collins rolled his eyes. "Where else besides Alphabet City would they be in if they're looking for drugs, beer, and guns? Damn, man, you've lived here for nearly ten years and you wouldn't think a druggie would stay here? These guys are idiots, they aren't thinking straight."

"Still got a gun." Benny shook his head, scowling. "Davis I'd expect to run into this, but Mark's smarter than that."

"Is he?"

"What?"

"Look," Collins sighed, "Mark isn't thinking straight either. I'm guessing they just found the note from Tammy and Mark's emotions got all riled up because of what she said about him. She's in danger and he won't let her die in the hands of those two. Roger's easily swayed. They know what they're getting into, but that doesn't mean they're thinking of all the consequences of what will happen."

"And those would be…"

"Murder. Death. Kidnap. Pain…" The car swerved again. "Pick your poison."

"Damn."

"Exactly. Look, Benny, Roger and Mark aren't idiots in this…well, they aren't compared to Jimmy and Frank, but that's not the point…okay? Don't doubt them so quickly though. We can't do anything right now, just sit back and get the police. Everything is out of our hands."

"We can't feel so," Benny searched for the right word, deflating, "_helpless_."

"Sometimes we've got to be helpless to help somebody."

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Bloodshot eyes crazed and dilated of a typical druggie, Frank's hold on the gun tightened in one hand as the other hand shot out like the crack of a whip to grab hold of the collar of Roger's leather jacket. The man was too short to pull Roger off his feet, but the situation was all the same dire as the gun came out to drag under Roger's throat and poke up so strongly that it had Roger gagging as if he was being choked. It didn't help that Tammy was behind them whispering pleas of letting them go, doing nothing but aggravating the stoned man.

"You have no idea how many times I've dreamed of doing this…" Frank whispered, the gun coming harder onto Roger's throat. "So many times I've wanted revenge for everything you did to us. All the things you got…the women, the drugs, and all the fame for being the pretty boy front man of the Well Hungarians. What were the rest of us? NOTHING! Tony and I, all we did was lug around the equipment, get shit thrown at us for _your_ petty mistakes. WE got us at clubs. All the work was done by us! None by you!"

Eyes flaring, heart beating, Roger didn't seem to care a gun was being shoved under his throat. "You think all that shit makes me a bad person? Who the hell are you to say I had it better. Because of April I got HIV," this comment, Roger noticed out of the corner of his eyes, made Tammy squirm, "and because of those _petty mistakes_ I lived in a rut because of everything I did."

Frank challenged, "Who the hell do you think killed Tony?"

"NOT ME!" Roger growled. "He was murdered by that bastard over there," a finger was pointed at a cowering Jimmy; suddenly the old barkeep didn't know whose side he was on. "Don't tell me Tony died because of me! I didn't pull the damned trigger!"

"WATCH YOUR MOUTH!"

_Clank!_

The gun was ripped easily away from Roger's throat, and, before the musician had time to even blink, Roger was sprawled on the ground hissing through the pain as he held his aching head in his hand. There was a notion of when to pick your battles, but the fury behind Roger's heart was too great to ignore. Even through the threat of a gun and the thumping of his head, Roger looked up with cold eyes. "Couldn't give a damn if he died, could you? He was nothing more than a toy to you. Just like Tammy is."

_Smack! _A fist across Roger's cheek for his troubles. "You don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

Massaging his jaw, Roger looked up from his position on his hands and knees. "Don't I? You _loved _April, didn't you? Not her specifically but the notion that she was a person who could give you so much drugs that it would make your head spin. Didn't matter how, April aimed to please. She gave drugs out to whoever asked because she believed that made her even more loved than ever. More so than her parents ever loved her."

"You treated her like dirt," Frank hissed. "Nothing but a pawn in your little loveless mind game."

"I. Loved. Her." Roger yelled cautiously. "She was the first woman I ever fell in love with."

_Mimi…_

_I do love Mimi, she's my everything. Still, it's not a reason to forget April and throw away everything she ever did for me. Without April I never would've met Mimi and fallen in love with life. April helped me, she just helped me in more ways than I'd ever thought possible. Even in death…_

"Where is he? Where'd you put Tony?" Roger questioned, suddenly curious. "Did you burn his body so no evidence of his death could be traced back to you? What was it? Is fire really the answer to all your problems?"

"SHUT UP!" Frank's fist flew, slamming into Roger's already-scratched cheek and causing the musician to fall back onto the water-soaked basement ground. "You don't know shit! After you broke up the band everything went downhill!"

Roger couldn't stop, his eyes narrowed. "Didn't have the talent to go on without your so-called _pretty boy front man_? Isn't that just pathetic! You had to resort to smack and alcohol, in turn throwing away your whole life and music career!" _Smack!_ Another punch across the cheek. "You don't get it, do you?" Roger fired, unfazed by the punch. "Quitting the band was the best choice I made!"

Frank grabbed Roger's collar again and brought the brown-haired man to his feet. "Who the hell are you to say anything about us?"

"Who are _you_ to blame _me_ for _your_ misfortune?" Roger spat back. "I'd get the hell away from me if I were you."

"Afraid of a gun?" Frank whispered, his voice low and dangerous. "Afraid I'll get too close to kill you?"

"I'm not afraid of you," Roger whispered dangerously, "but I'll be damned if I transfer my HIV status to you." Once Roger was dropped, the musician couldn't help but smirk as Frank backed away slowly. "You should be afraid of HIV and AIDS. It's a _disease_."

The gun was flashed again, this time in Frank's unsteady hands. He pointed to Roger and said, "I told Cohen I'm going to kill her. Move aside." Suddenly the adrenaline rush was pumping through Roger, and he didn't move. "MOVE ASIDE!" Frank was frantic, his hand shaking harder as the seconds rolled by. "This isn't your fight."

"It is when you mess with my _brother_!" Roger yelled, suddenly taking the upper hand of the situation. "In some way I should only thank you for making us understand each other better, but that does not forgive what you did! Wait for the police! They'll put you in jail for _life_."

"What life?" Frank raised the gun, he stepped forward. His whole mood changed. "What to kill for the justice of my sins. I should be so lucky to die…"

_What in the…?_

Soon the gun was pointing at Mark and Tammy…no, not Mark and Tammy…

_Shit._

_BOOM!_

Tammy screamed, Jimmy cursed, Mark flinched, Roger ducked, and Frank…

Frank smiled.

The trashcan holding Tammy's makeshift fire tilted and suddenly the room was catching fire one at a time. Quickly the staircase leading out of the bar was set ablaze and they were trapped.

Trapped in a pit of flames…

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN WE CAN'T GO IN!?"

"Please, sirs." The officer behind the long wooden desk, his face fallen in fear, held up his hands in defense. "I was told not to let anybody in unless it was a big emergency. Everybody is busy-"

"THIS IS A DAMNED EMERGENCY!"

"Benjamin?"

Allison Grey of the Westport Greys. She was the picture-perfect woman of a wealthy family, her black skirt and red blouse shined and ironed to perfection as it fit snugly around her body. Light brown hair shined easily and she looked over a pair of thin sunglasses, which she wore despite the early morning time, with light brown eyes. Benny met her confused expression with his own narrowed eyes, suddenly turning away from Collins and the arguing baby-faced officer.

"Allison," Benny greeted. He swallowed down whatever was climbing up his throat and nodded contently. "What are you doing here?"

"I came down here to have a late night dinner with my father's investors and my car got stolen." She absently tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and averted her eyes, suddenly embarrassed. "I tried for almost an hour to get a taxi but nobody would help me so I finally gave that up and hitchhiked down here. My father should be here in fifteen minutes to pick me up…"

"GIVE ME SOME DAMNED SERVICE BEFORE I BURN THIS PLACE DOWN MYSELF!"

"Sir, please. There's no need for threats-"

"APPARENTLY THERE IS!"

Allison looked up, frowning. "Is there something wrong?"

Benny opened his mouth to say no, but what was the use? Who the hell cared if Allison knew? Sighing heavily, Benny rubbed his temple, still slightly queasy from the car ride with Collins, and replied, "We came down here earlier to report a kidnapping and left our two friends at home, and when we got back it seemed as if they'd gone to handle things on their own. It's possible they're being held at gunpoint, but we don't know where."

"Why would they risk their lives?"

Eyes flaring, suddenly remembering why he disliked Allison in the first place, Benny hissed, "Because they're helping a _friend_ and sometimes you have to risk your life for somebody who you care about, even if it's at risk of your own life. We're _family_."

Neither noticed Collins had stopped shouting and was looking to Benny with a sudden smile plastering his face.

Allison's face dropped. "Oh."

"There's a thing of knowing who your really family are."

Allison nodded. She plastered on a faux smile of confidence and said, "Don't worry Benjamin, I'm sure they'll speak to you soon."

_False hope from a false woman._ Benny chuckled aloud at his thought and shook his head just in time to see Muffy shoot him an annoyed look. He didn't bother reassuring her of the false-truce between them, Benny just turned and moved back to stand next to Collins. They looked to each other and shared a mutual look of distress, something odd even up to Collins' standards.

"You all right?" Collins questioned, hand moving to let out a quick puff of his cigarette, promptly ignoring the protests coming from the officer.

Benny thought for a moment, taking another deep sigh. He looked to Collins and smiled, "Yeah."

"Good man." Collins chucked good-naturedly, suddenly he swung a hand around the man's shoulder and turned back to the officer. "Are we going to have to start this argument again or are we going to get some service done?"

"Sir, as I said, there is nobody who can speak to you-"

"This is a matter of _life and death_," Benny interjected. "Don't tell us that in a police station nobody can talk about that!"

"We just don't-"

"Don't what?" Collins challenged. "Don't have the time to save three people from dying? Hell you've ignored so long that they could already be dead! Is that why you applied for such a job, boy? To waste our time enough that our friends could be lying in a gutter somewhere?"

"No-"

"Than what is it?" Benny said, eyes narrowing dangerously. "We've got evidence."

"Nobody-"

"Excuse me," a feminine voice to their right made heads spins abruptly, "is there a problem here?"

Benny's breath hitched in his throat as he noticed Allison standing with her hands plastered to her hips and her lips puffed out dangerously. She stalked up to stand between Collins and Benny and placed a finger on the desk pointedly. "Listen Mister…" she read the man's nametag, "_Clark_, but I believe there are lives at stake on times like these and that means service is a necessity."

"Ms. Grey-"

"No." Allison placed her finger to the man's lips. "Just get your _skinny ass _up and do something." Moving to intervene the odd situation, Benny stopped as he felt Collins's hand on his shoulder telling him to wait. As the officer flew quickly away from the desk Allison moved away and looked beyond the two men at- "Officer Sherman Long, these two are in _dire_ need of your services."

Benny and Collins turned quickly; suddenly finding themselves in the presence of a uniformed officer with flashy badges came up, his eyebrow cocked in a businesslike manner. "Well," Officer Long said, "looks like we've got troubles. What seems to be the problem?"

Collins held out the photograph and explained the situation quickly.

Suddenly Benny was taking Allison's hand and moving her away from the officer and anarchist. "What was that?" he questioned once they were outside underneath the protection of the tiny roof as the rain poured down before them.

"Look Benjamin-"

"Please call me Benny. I've always hated that name."

Allison continued, "I understand that I put you in an _awfully _terrible position last year, but I feel I understand your reason for leaving me for this so-called _bohemian _lifestyle. And I know this is more than my affair. We were born in two _very_ different worlds; there was just nothing there to keep us together. You love your friends, anybody can see that. I'm very sorry."

"It's not easy to forgive what you did-"

"I don't expect you to forgive me. Just take what I just did as a good-natured deed."

Taking Allison's hands, feeling the need to put his life with her behind him, Benny smiled. "Thank you."

"BENNY!" Collins poked his head out the station's door. He noticed Allison and flashed a small smile. "Oh, sorry…"

"No, I'm done." Allison smiled softly and wandered into the rain towards the limo which held her father. "Goodbye and good luck…Benny."

Collins nodded, watching the woman's petite form walk away. "Mm-hmm. Nice job, Ben."

"What happened with Officer Long?"

"We're getting somewhere!" Collins grinned. "Come on, he's getting together some officers and we're going to go look for Tammy."

"_We're_ coming too?"

"You expect me to stay out of this?"

"What happened to letting the police handle this?"

"This is _me_ and the _law_." Collins rolled his eyes. "We're not going to get in the way and we have to stay in the squad car."

"Figures."

"You coming or what?"

"Where to?"

"Officer Long seems to think they'll be at Jimmy's old bar…"

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

The fire had built up quickly, water bouncing off the murky slates of rainwater and traveling across to burn the broken plaster off the wall as a wall surrounded the inhabitants. No longer could they get to the window to leave the building, and the roof seemed to be collapsing slowly as pieces of wood from the ceiling fell slowly. Roger, however, wasn't as afraid of the fire as he was of the gunshots ringing out around him -almost coming from nowhere.

_Boom! Boom! Boom!_

Sensitive ears caught the sounds of the bullets ricocheting off the walls and floor.

"Stay down!" Roger called out. "Stay on the ground!"

Everything was red; it made Roger's eyes burn painfully as he blinked back tears away from his eyes. He'd gotten so confused in the fiery buildup that Roger had suddenly lost track of Tammy and Mark's position, unable to see beyond the red masses, and even found himself torn away from Frank. The only person Roger seemed to find was Jimmy…

The shell of Jimmy.

Roger had gotten a quick glance at the hole in Jimmy's neck and looked away quickly. Roger cursed the thoughts he had as a teenager when watching the action adventure films with his middle school friends. They'd always thought they were so cool staying calm when the bloody scenes came on in the horror films, but now it wasn't the same-

Now, this was real.

_Boom! Boom! Boom!_

Shit, was it real…

_CRASH!_

"Holy shit!" Roger yelled as he dove away from the spot he was standing, he scrambled away and looked back just in time to see a large chunk of fire-induced plaster fall to where he was just standing. Still, Roger was not quick enough and cried out in pain as a large block of plaster landing on his right leg. The musician muttered a string of curse words-

"Roger!" Tammy cried. "Roger, where are you?"

"Over here!" Roger called, mentally slapping himself at how stupid his words sounded. "Are you all right!"

"Yes, but Mark's trapped!"

Head whipping up suddenly, eyes widening, Roger called back, "What happened?"

"I don't know…" Tammy cried. "The ceiling was coming down on us and he seemed to…know…and I-I there wasn't-"

"Tammy, calm down! _What happened_?"

"He pushed me out of the way!" Tammy yelled. "He's _stuck_! Under the debris!"

"Don't worry Tammy!" Roger called. "I'll come to you! Just keep talking. Okay?"

"All right." Roger heard her sniffle. "Where's Frank?"

_Definitely need to specify conversations Davis…_

Roger bit his lip from saying "I don't know" and instead went with, "Louder!" hoping she'd understand. Fortunately for Roger, she was smart.

"Mark's still breathing!" she yelled instead, trying to reassure Roger of his best friend. "He's breathing!"

Roger continued to listen to Tammy's yells; he bit his lip as he quickly placed his hands over the hot chunk of plaster over his leg and attempted to hold down a pained yell as he threw the lump from his leg.Roger shouted internally, his heart beating rapidly as he relived his leg from the heavy burden. He was bleeding, losing more blood, and Roger knew it probably wasn't safe to walk, but Tammy needed him…Mark needed him…

"ROGER!"

"I'm coming Tammy!"

"Roger, are you all right!"

"Never better," Roger muttered. He drug his leg with him, wincing with every step, and turned towards Tammy's voice. "Keep calling Tammy! Where are you?"

"Near the stairs! Everything's blocked off! We can't get out…"

"Don't worry, Tam." Roger more-or-less hopped. "I'm coming. Don't worry…"

And then he found Frank.

The same form of a broken shell as Jimmy and April before him. A bullet wound in his head.

Roger looked away, tears brimming the sides of his eye.

"Over here!" Tammy cried suddenly. "BEHIND YOU!"

Roger turned. The smile that had crawled up his face at the sound of the familiar voice fell as quickly as it came as he saw the brown-haired girl waving frantically at him, she kneeled beside the crumpled form of Mark Cohen, the blond buried under hundreds of pieces of fallen debris. Muttering another curse that had crawled up his throat, Roger limped quickly towards his two friends.

"Are you all right?" Tammy whispered, hand reaching out, but stopping as she saw the blood.

Roger gave a weak smile. "Don't worry. How are you?"

She gestured pathetically to her forehead and flashed a small smile. "Just a knock on the head."

Shifting slightly, _very _careful of the blood, Roger moved towards Mark and placed a comforting hand on the filmmaker's shoulder. "Mark. Mark, come on."

"He's all right," Tammy whispered. "He'll be all right. He's fine. Right, Roger? He'll be just fine."

"Mark, wake up."

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Maureen shuddered.

Joanne, having joined the diva and dancer out in the living room just minutes ago, looked to her and frowned. "Honey bear?" The dark-skinned lawyer placed a hand on Maureen's knee and was surprised to see her flinch at the simple touch. Exchanging a small glance with Mimi, Joanne placed her hand on Maureen's cheek and gently led her face over to face them. "Maureen," she tried this time. "What's wrong?"

"I have a…_feeling_." Maureen pulled her knees closer to her chest. "I've gotten them when I was young. My mother and father told me I woke up screaming bloody murder when I was a little girl, every time it was the night one of my relatives died. Once, in school, I fainted -later I found out a girl in my theater class died in a car wreck. Then April…" Maureen trailed off.

"You two were close?" Mimi questioned softly, trying to take Maureen's mind off the current situation.

Maureen, in turn, chuckled. "She was my _best friend_."

"I didn't know that." Joanne frowned. "I thought you were just roommates with Roger, Mark, Collins, and Benny."

"We were," said Maureen. "I met Mark at Tompkins Square Park and introduced him to April, and Mark introduced April to Roger."

"Roger told me he met April in a bar."

"They did meet there. _Technically_." Maureen smiled at the memory. "I pawned April off on Mark when I wanted to audition for this off-Broadway role, which I didn't get, and they went to the bar to see Roger perform." Maureen shuddered again.

Joanne moved closer and took Maureen's hand. "Are you all right?"

"I am." Maureen frowned. "I don't think _they_ are."

"Whose they?" Mimi questioned, her own body shuddering at the thought.

"I don't know."

"I'm sure they're fine." Joanne reassured the two women. "It's nothing, honey bear. Just chills. It's cold in here and you're wearing a sleeveless shirt." She hugged Maureen confidently, but it didn't meet her eyes, and it did not go past Maureen and Mimi.

"You don't mean that." Maureen hugged her back. "You're just as worried."

"No, I'm-"

"It's what Mark used to do," Maureen whispered. "He holds back his emotions and cares about us. Just like Collins said."

Joanne frowned and repeated her words from before, "I'm sure they're fine."

Mimi frowned too and said, "Who's ever sure of anything?"

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

_Not again…_

The searing pain pushed through Mark's whole entire body this time, though the pounding against his head left a distinct feeling making the filmmaker groan. He vaguely heard a sigh of relief from somewhere above him winced as a hand shook his shoulder. The voice was rough and scratchy, the touch, albeit slightly comforting, made Mark wince against the abrupt movement. Tightening the tight close on his eyes, Mark tilted his head, barely moving a few inches as another spasm of pain rushed through Mark's back.

"Mark. Mark… Come on, man. You'll be okay." The hand shook his shoulder more and more, which only caused the blond to groan. "Hang on. We'll get you out of here. I-I'll get you out of here. It's me, Mark, Roger. It's Roger. Come on, Mark. Open your eyes…Please, don't leave us…don't leave _me_…"

Mark couldn't resist. "You -_gulp_- real-realize how selfish tha…that makesss you sound?" He felt the corners of his lip arching upward. "Right?"

Roger cried. "Mark."

"Tha's me…" Mark gulped down whatever was stuck in his throat, but only succeeded in coughing. A hand closed around his own. "Tammy?"

The hand squeezed. "Yeah, Mark?"

His lip arched again. "I told you we'd make it."

"Yeah." Tammy chuckled. "Yeah, you were right."

Mark could hear the tears in her eyes. "Don't cry. It'll be all right now…"

_Sniffle_. "Uh-huh."

"Where's Frank?"

Roger's voice. "He's dead. Killed himself."

"What?"

"I don't know man…jus-just don't worry, okay?" Roger said. "Just focus on yourself."

"Ri-right…" Mark squeezed his eyes tighter and coughed. Shifting slightly caused him to moan in pain. "Jeezus, man."

"You're shivering." Roger pointed out. "Can you move?"

Mark frowned. "I-I…don't think so."

Tammy whispered, "You'll be all right, Mark. Just like you told me. We're _both_ getting out of this. Okay?"

Mark chocked down his laughter. "Pr-promise…"

"Mark, man, look at me." Roger's voice floated through his ears. "You gotta open your eyes, man… You hit your head. Fall asleep in your condition and… Jus-just open your eyes, Mark. I know it hurts, man, but you've got to stay awake."

"Ti-tired…"

"Come on, Mark." Roger said forcibly. "No way in hell are you dying from this."

"You just promised," Tammy said. "Don't…please don't, Mark. You saved me. You both did."

"I'm fi-fine."

Mark squinted as he looked up to where Roger and Tammy's presence was sure to be. The light before him made him squint, scorching red fire pushing heat through the room as sweat poured from his forehead, or…rain. It was rain. Above, where the ceiling had been, a dark sky loomed overhead as the surroundings illuminated Mark in a shine of lightning and a crash of thunder. Stars upon stars littered the sky.

Mark chuckled and whispered his thoughts, "Holy shit."

"What?" Roger's worried voice pushed through his ears. "Does it hurt? Are you all right?"

Looking up into Roger's green eyes, watching the crystal clear teardrop stream down the musician's cheeks as wet, brown hair clung to Roger's forehead. The whole scene made Mark chuckle again, this time causing Tammy to gasp in worriment. Moving his eyes over, squinting through the darkness, only the illumination of the bouncing flames helping him, Mark painfully tilted his head and stared in the deep, dark green eyes of Tammy Carson. She looked just like April, but her hair was a light shade of brown instead of fiery red.

Shuddering, even against the pain, loud sirens blared.

"Would you look at that," Mark whispered. "Red and blue…"

"What?" Roger blinked, suddenly he was leaning forward. "What'd you say?"

"Still so dark," Mark's voice cracked. He was cut off with a hacking cough, but his smile never faded. "It's still so…_shadowy_, but there's _something_ there." Water fell onto his head and Mark felt the euphoria rush through his body. "Never …"

Tammy questioned, "Mark, are you all right?"

"It's _amazing_, man."

Roger understood. Roger always understood.

"You can see?"

Mark coughed a laugh. "I never remembered how damned _ugly_ you looked."

"You asshole," Roger cried. "You _damned_ asshole."

Looking up slightly, sighting the crimson red, Mark said simply, "You're bleeding…"

"IS ANYBODY DOWN THERE?" The voice of a police officer. The white light flashed onto their faces. "CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME?"

Tammy stood. She ran to the window and shouted. "We're down here! HURRY! We've got a man in _critical _condition!"

"STAY THERE! We're sending in the firefighters!"

Roger grabbed hold of his head and _laughed_. "Holy shit, man. Holy shit…"

And as Tammy stood away from the odd scene before her, tears streaming down her face as she watched the two best friend's, more things made sense.

Burning, scorching fire bouncing before them.

Flashing red a blue lights of the police cars outside.

Yellow people with masks, firefighters, breaking through the walls.

Ruble falling. Debris gathering.

And even so, each of Roger and Mark blinking back their own tears-

Mark laughed, the expression _finally_ meeting his eyes.

Even through the dark, the screaming from above, the death and destruction, the dying rain…

Roger and Mark smiled.


	16. Healing Time

**Chapter Sixteen: Healing Time**

April 26th, 7:20 AM, Eastern Standard Time

The first thing Roger woke up to was the gentle breathing of Mimi next to him and the soft feel of her hand enclosed tightly in his own. It had been like waking up every night before, almost the same kind of deep loving feeling that had Roger's insides turning as he squeezed the hand. He fought down the tight groan growing in his throat as he shifted on the hard mattress, eyes weakly opening as if they held two large elephants upon them. Roger shook his head slightly at the slight wooziness engulfing him as he wearily blinked against the bright fluorescent lights hanging above him. He swallowed at whatever had built up in his throat, stifling the rough coughs, and opened his eyes.

Roger winced, but, for the first time in those seconds he'd spent waking up, Roger realized he was not at the loft cuddling up to Mimi. The hospital room was a bright sterile white and he was in a half-lying half-sitting position on one of the hardcore mattresses as an IV line stuck out of his arm hooking up to two machines. Tilting his head in wonderment, Roger's eyes widened in awareness as he looked to his side and found the sleeping form of Mimi curled up next to him, squashed between the silver railing of his bed with her head on his chest. Carefully, Roger lifted his hand and tilted a stray strand of brown curl behind the woman's ear, she shifted and moaned softly against the touch, but, luckily, she did not wake.

"Welcome to the land of the living."

Startled, Roger turned his blurry eyes and focused in on the amused form of Benny, the usual strict-businessman clad in a simple pair of light blue jeans and a dark black sweater. He was sitting in one of the dark blue chairs near Roger's bed, feet crossed in front of him accordingly as he leaned in to put his elbows on his knees comfortably. His lips seemed to twitch into a slight smile at the sight of the two, though it disappeared quickly as he clasped his hands in front of his face.

"Benny." Roger was startled at how broken his voice sounded and closed his eyes and cleared his throat before trying again. "Shit, what the hell are you doing here?" It hadn't meant to come out as dark as he meant it to, but Roger could do nothing to smooth things over as he was overcome with a small coughing fit that, luckily, didn't wake Mimi -she was _dead_ asleep.

"Here," the look on Benny's face clearly meant he wasn't fazed by the musician's harsh tone. He stood quickly and sauntered easily toward Roger's side, taking up a small white cup and carefully tilted it toward Roger's lips. "Let me help you," Benny said softly, "you don't want to wake Mimi…"

It wasn't hard for Roger to tell that Benny had added that last part to soothe his pride, but, for once, Roger decided not to remark. His throat was too dry for his liking to waste his breath on starting a petty argument. "All right."

The water sent a wave of euphoria shooting through Roger's body, the wet liquid flowing easily down his parched throat before the cup was slowly moved away from his lips. A bit of the water fell onto his cheek, but Roger was too weak to lift his hand and swipe it away, so he didn't seem to mind as Benny gently dabbed a white napkin to his cheek as green eyes closed against the pain in his leg. When the pain subsided Roger opened his eyes again, he saw that Benny had moved back to the chair and was giving him a look of deep concern, one that wasn't usually presented so freely.

"Thanks." Roger's voice was a whisper.

"No problem," Benny responded, his voice just as low as not to wake the still-sleeping Mimi.

Clearing his throat for what felt like the umpteenth time in the past fifteen minutes, Roger questioned again, "What are you doing here?"

"You know," Benny started calmly, "I'd thought you'd forgiven me for everything I did. My intentions were in the right place and I had wanted to do something right for all of you, I just did it in a bad way."

"There's no way to forgive you for all that rent shit." Roger weakly held his hand a few inches off the bed as a signal for Benny not to speak, the man having had opened his mouth simply leaned back casually and allowed Roger to finish. "Just being mad at you for leaving all of us in that hell while you flaunted off to the city and bought all those damned business suits," Roger explained with a shake of his head. "We didn't deserve to be treated-"

"I know, but-" Benny stopped as Roger's hand came up again.

"Though, I guess, we should've realized where you were coming from." Roger frowned. "I'm not apologizing."

"I'm not asking you to."

"Good." Roger shifted slightly. His gaze shifted around the pale white hospital room and he questioned, "What happened?"

Benny pursed his lips and shrugged. "How much do you remember?"

Roger shook his head; his memory was filled with so much chaos that it had his head swimming from all the images and thoughts flashing through. He distinctly was remembering the red, white, and blue lights of the ambulance bus, the fire truck, and the police car. They'd gotten him and Tammy out of the building and separated them into different ambulances once Roger had told them about his HIV status. The musician was reluctant to leave though, for Mark was still in the building trapped. Still, Collins had easily ushered him into the ambulance and stayed with him on the way to the hospital, where his leg had been splinted and he'd been given a bed for rest. Roger guessed he fell asleep…hell it had been a long day.

"You had a fever last night, Mimi was worried."

"A fever," Roger question, finally finding his voice. "How-"

A small hand stroking his cheek broke Roger's words. Green eyes looked down to see the calm eyes of Mimi staring into him, she'd straightened slightly so that all her weight was not on Roger and moved so she was lying half on the bed and half on the chair. "Doing okay, love?" she whispered softly, her eyebrows furrowing with worry. "You've been asleep for a long time."

"What time is it?" Roger whispered, not trusting his throat to make his voice louder than necessary.

Benny looked to his watch and said, "Almost 7:30 AM."

"That doesn't seem so bad."

"April 26th."

Looking to Mimi, his face colored in confusion, Roger questioned his girlfriend. "Seriously?"

"You slept all day!" A chuckle followed the blunt statement as Thomas Collins stalked into the room calmly, he held a cup in his hand and a clear plastic container containing, what looked to be, a ham sandwich. The anarchist handed the sandwich to Benny, who took it with a nod, before moving to Roger's side and hugging him happily. "Glad to see you finally up." With that he handed the cup, filled with coffee, to Mimi and promptly moved to plunk down on the seat next to Benny.

Roger chuckled at Collins' antics. "No wonder I fell like hell."

"Don't worry," Benny laughed, "you look it too."

"Benny, be nice." Joanne walked in next, her own coffee cup in her hand, and promptly slapped the man upside his head. She ignored the catcalls from Collins and Mimi and walked up to Roger to place a calm kiss on his cheek. The lawyer moved to sit down on the seat next to Mimi. "How do you feel?" she questioned -always the mother hen.

"Terrific, considering my leg is as numb as all hell and I've got an itch that I can't reach." Roger rolled his eyes at their laughter. "I'm glad my pain amuses you."

Mimi giggled. "Not amuse…_entertains_."

Roger blinked. "What's the difference?"

Joanne simply shook her head and leaned over to swipe a plastic fork from Benny's meal. She threw it at his stomach and said, "Here, this should help."

"Hey! I was using that." Benny frowned.

Mimi took the fork and experimentally dug it under the cast of Roger's leg. Roger smiled and Mimi giggled again. "Feel better, love?"

"Much. Still want the fork, Ben? I'll be glad to give it back." Benny paled at the sight of the fork. "Hah," Roger continued, "shows you to make fun of my devilishly handsome looks!"

"Don't be such a hothead." Benny couldn't help but smile. It finally seemed as if the African-American fit in with the bohemians, and he seemed more comfortable in his skin when they were around. The feud between Roger and Benny still showed up form time-to-time, but it was safe to say everything had been put aside for now…today… No day but today.

_Holy shit…_

Roger's eyes wavered unsteadily around the room suddenly as a thought entered his mind. "What happened to Mark and Tammy?" he questioned. "Did they get out all right? We got separated when I was put into the ambulance and-"

A long, childish squeal cut Roger off as heads whipped to the door just in time to see a blur of brown and black whip by the door and continue on through the pale white hospital hallway, though they were quickly followed by a young woman in a white coat. Roger shot a confused look toward his bohemian friends at their amused looks, and watched curiously as Joanne let out a frustrated grunt and hopped up to stick her head out the door. Anticipating the timing, Joanne stuck her hand out the door and snatched the back form of, who Roger guessed to be, Maureen Johnson.

"Pookie!" Maureen laughed happily. "Baby, come on, we were just having some fun."

The white-coated doctor came up quickly. "You will _not_ overexert my patient!" he yelled unhappily. "I allowed you to take her out as long as she was kept safe and calm! She is still healing!"

A feminine voice came in, giggling. "I asked her to do that. Haven't you seen the movies? They do it all the time."

"Get in the room!" Joanne's finger pointed toward the interior pointedly. She gave Maureen a stern glare and turned to the doctor, "I've very sorry, sir-"

However, Roger zoned out of the conversation between Joanne and the doctor and was solely focusing on the two women coming into his room. Maureen was at the helm, her lips pouting slightly, but soon her face lighting up at the sight of him awake. There was something about the happy-go-lucky girl that seemed uncharacteristically -or, at least for Maureen- calm. She had a flair of tranquil to her, though her gestures still seemed wild, Maureen seemed different. She walked into the room pushing in a wheelchair though, the occupant's eyes wide with happiness and a large grin splitting her lips.

"Roger!"

Roger smiled simply. "Tammy, you look _great_."

Tammy Carson, sister of April. She looked much better than when Roger had seen her before, her green eyes so full of life and her skin building more color into them so she didn't look so pale. Her long brown hair had been cut shoulder-length, still cascading down gracefully as a petite hand came to tuck a stray piece behind her ear. Tammy was clad in a comfortable pair of black sweats and a long gray hoodie as white bandages covered her cheek and her wrists, fading red scratches showing every so often.

"Well," Tammy wheeled away from Maureen and moved closer to Roger's side, "that's all thanks to you and Mark."

Roger took her hands and smirked. "Are you all right?"

"More than you, apparently." Tammy chuckled. "I'm fine, a little malnourished all the same, but real good considering. The doctors won't let me out of this wheelchair until I get all my strength back." She rolled her eyes at that. "Your friends have been keeping me company though."

"_His_ friends?" Maureen questioned with a laugh. "Don't count yourself out so soon!"

"All the same…" Tammy blushed. "Thank you."

"What about your shoulder?" Roger questioned. "The knife wound looked deep."

"Oh," Tammy rolled up her sleeve cautiously and flashed a white wrap going around her arm. "It's not too bad. You were right before, it hurt like hell once I got over the shock of it all." She pushed her sleeve down. "They've got me talking to this therapist though, and it actually isn't too bad. I had nightmares last week and-"

Roger massaged her hand delicately. "You don't have to explain."

"I want to," Tammy assured him, "and I will. It's just…some things are harder to get over."

"Hey now," Mimi placed a hand on her shoulder this time, "if there's _anything_ you need, just come and talk. We'll listen."

Tammy blushed again. "Thanks."

"Wait," Roger shook his head. "What about Mark? Where did he go? He did get out, right?"

Tammy turned away this time, allowing Maureen to come up. "Actually, that's where we just were."

The bohemians looked away, and it only made Roger's heart start beating even faster in his chest. Suddenly the pain in his leg lifted from his body and he felt undeniably numb. He vaguely felt Mimi's hand moving into his own and he looked to see her eyes averted; even Benny held a look of sorrow in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, Roger questioned, "What happened?" his voice was croaked. "He's all right, right? He's _alive_?"

"Yes!" Maureen said quickly, she realized how high her voice had gotten with that word and recoiled slightly. She sighed contently and closed her eyes before continuing more confidently. "Mark was in surgery-"

"_Surgery_!" Roger's eyes bugged, he sat up quickly and fought off a wave of dizziness as he swatted Mimi and Joanne's hands away. He grunted against the movement as he sat up straighter and questioned, "What in the _hell _happened? Start from the beginning!"

Eyes turned to Benny. Benny had been the one who stayed on the scene with Mark when Collins and Tammy had hightailed it to the hospital. He began with a cough. "It took hours to get Mark out from the debris, I'm not sure exactly, but it was because they needed to get the fire out. There was a pole holding the ceiling above him together and they had to do this maneuver so the roof wouldn't collapse on him-"

"Some things we don't need to know," Maureen whispered, flopping onto the arm of Joanne's chair and settling Tammy's chair next to Mimi. "Just get to the point."

"They got him out and they treated him in the field before taking him to the emergency room; I rode along in the ambulance. They explained to me that they thought something impeded into his back and might've hit his spinal chord in such a way that…I'm not sure…a- there was…"

"What? There was what?"

"They took him to surgery and pulled all this medical jargon on me." Benny shook his head and massaged is temple. "The surgery lasted three hours, and it had something to do with his back and legs. They're still waiting for him to wake up from the anesthesia and-"

"He woke up!" Maureen cut in, Tammy nodding along with her words. "We were just there, but they kicked us out."

"They'll find out about his vision and his legs." Benny continued. "That's what they're doing, probably-"

"_Legs_?" Roger questioned, eyes wide with worry. "What do you mean? Are you saying he might be…?" The word didn't register in Roger's brain, and he couldn't bring himself to say it.

First the filmmaker's eyesight and now his legs?

"He might not regain any function of his legs."

"Let me see him."

"Roger…" Maureen tried. "We were all ready-"

Roger looked to her desperately and repeated with more force, "Let me see him."

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

The doctors and nurses had been reluctant at first, they didn't want to exert their patient with drastic news and they did not want Roger to be moved all the way up to the ICU, where Mark's room was. However, Roger had been persistent, even through swears threatening his life and death over their dead bodies. Finally, after nearly an hour of yelling and frustration, the doctor had finally relented and told Roger that as long as somebody went with him it would fine for a few minutes. Tammy was quick to volunteer but, considering her own predicament, Collins had been selected instead while the other bohemians took Tammy back to her room.

Collins had been pushing Roger in the wheelchair, something the doctors had insisted on because of his leg. The anarchist had been mostly silent throughout the whole trip, but he struck up conversation to occupy Roger's mind, which Roger was grateful for. "He might not look the same, what with all the scratches and bruises…"

Roger nearly laughed. "Are you kidding? Look at me!"

Before coming Roger had taken a look at himself in the bathroom mirror, and, though Mimi had helped him take a quick shower, Roger had a chance to sneak in a peek at his bruises and scratches. Though Frank had been high at the time, it didn't bring any relief from his multitude of blows -especially when he needed to use the gun. Needless to say with black bags under his eyes, his right eye swelled red, and Roger's cheek marked, the musician looked anything but attractive. It all made Roger laugh at how, when he was a teenager, he'd get the scrapes on purpose to impress the ladies. Of course, now, it only made Mimi worry more than ever.

"You don't look too bad, man." Collins had responded. "Still as ugly as ever."

"Thanks…"

"_I never remembered how damned ugly you looked…"_

Roger shook Mark's voice out of his head and sighed. His memory was still coming in short bursts. Soon though, after traveling the three stories and through fifteen hallways, Roger's head snapped up as the wheelchair came to a stop behind one certain door. Collins carefully spun the wheelchair around and crouched down so he could face the musician face-to-face.

"How's his vision?" Roger asked, speaking quickly before Collins could get a word in edgewise. "He can see, right?"

"Mostly." the anarchist nodded. "His vision comes and goes most times, but he can see."

"Good."

"Look, Rog," Collins sighed. "Are you sure about this? I don't need you to go freaking out because the boy's hurt."

"Yeah, well, what do you expect me to do?" Roger questioned monotonously. "He's my best friend and he's hurt, I have a right to be worried for him."

"Right now, you need to be there for him. Be strong for him." Collins shook his head. "Help him cope."

"What about me? Do you want me to hold in my feelings?"

"What the hell do you think Mark was doing for the duration of your withdrawal?"

_Crap._

"Ready?" Collins questioned, to which Roger nodded. "Seriously, Rog. I don't want to have to drag you out if you start yelling some kind of nonsense about how Mark should've known better than to get hurt under your watch-" he paused at the glare from the musician. "I'm just saying…"

"I get it," Roger responded. "No worries, Thomas."

"That's all I wanted to hear, man."

Roger and Collins traveled into the room, and for a moment Roger felt truly pathetic being stuck in a wheelchair. Of course, he felt even more pathetic for having such a thought once he saw the condition his best friend was in. The boy was pale, to say the least, he had scratches and bruises surrounding his body and his chest was wrapped in one large white bandage. He was hooked up to at least three machines, each one of them producing their own steady beeping sound that made Roger go crazy.

It was the same sound as Angel.

_Angel…_

_Shit!_

"Don't worry about it man." Collins seemed to sense his thoughts and smiled down at him good-naturedly. Roger had almost forgotten that in a few months it would be the anniversary of Angel's death. "I'm fine," Collins insisted, though there was a faraway look in his eye.

Roger simply nodded, not wanting to drag memories from Collins, and turned back to his best friend. He waved Collins off and wheeled closer to the man's bed, eyes wavering uncertainly as he came closer and peered to the man's bruised eye. _Figures_, Roger thought to himself, _he gets over one black eye just to gain another just one week later._ Fortunately for Roger, the calm rise and fall of Mark's chest indicated life from the filmmaker. _Always a good sign._

Collins plopped down in the cushioned chair next to Roger. "He's not going to bite."

Recoiling back at the anarchist's voice, Roger caught himself staring blankly down at Mark. He looked to Collins and hissed back, "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Saying _good morning Mark_ would be a fine starter."

"Mark!" Roger yelped, eyes widening at the cracked voice.

"That's close enough." Mark shuddered involuntarily, his eyes blinked open a few times before settling underneath the bright fluorescent lights. Sharp blue turned toward Collins and Roger as a smile arched the corners of Mark's lips. The filmmaker grunted from the pain of the small movement though, making Roger as unsteady as ever. "They told me you hadn't woken up yet," Mark continued, "but I knew you'd wake up soon. You're never up on time."

Collins stifled a laugh.

Roger, however, looked less than amused. "Get you eyesight back and you call me ugly, I wake up and you call me lazy. What the hell is up with that?"

Mark smiled from his stiff position. "Big description of the best friend role is taunting. I take that part _very_ seriously."

"Are you all right?" Roger questioned, suddenly very worried. He noticed how tense Mark was and moved to squeeze the filmmaker's shoulders. "Do you want me to get the doctor or nurse or something?"

"No…'s jus-" Mark grunted, "just some back pains." He gave a weak smile. "Nothing to worry 'bout."

"That's not-" Roger stopped as he saw the stern look from Collins, clearly telling him _drop it and talk about something else_, so, instead, Roger took a deep breath and questioned, "Have you seen Tammy yet?"

"Saw her for a few seconds when I woke up, before the nurse kicked her and Maureen out of the room." Mark gave a gentle smile. "I'm just happy for that simple fact, you know? The doctors are telling me my vision is coming back in and out, though I'll still need those glasses."

Roger arched a brow. "Blurry?"

"As hell." Mark smirked. "Not too bad, but, I guess, that's not too good either."

"Given you a headache?" Collins questioned.

"A bit." Mark nodded, eyes squeezing shut as he said it. "I was hoping one of you could get my old pair at the loft, maybe it'll help me out a bit."

"No problem." Collins nodded. "I'll swing by the loft later this afternoon."

"Thanks." Mark grunted again. "Shit…"

Roger hissed to Collins, "Do something!"

Collins had the same worried look in his eyes though, so he didn't have to be told twice. Fortunately Mark hadn't heard or seen their exchange, and if he did he had no objections, but, just in case, Collins stood up lengthily and stretched. "Well," he yawned, "I think I'm going to go talk to your doctor." He hastily explained, "Maybe he can get me a pair of glasses for you so I don't have to go all the way back to the loft."

"Too lazy?" Mark laughed.

"Damn right." Collins ruffled the younger man's blond hair and smiled down at him. "Take care, we'll all come to see you later."

Mark smiled. "Thanks."

_Click._

"So…" Roger said as Collins left. "How are you?"

"As well as can be expected." Mark replied with a shrug. "Forget about me. What about you?"

"Better." Roger responded truthfully. "Doctors say I need to keep the splint on and I'll be as good as new."

"Great. I'm glad." This made Mark smile. Always one to care about his friend's welfare.

"Oh, yeah," Roger replied with a grin. "They checked my T-cell count and it's through the roof! Better than it's been in a long time, believe it or not."

"I believe it. Things have been going great for you…well, I mean, before everything that happened."

"Yeah." Roger nodded. "I was really surprised though; they'll be putting me on these new meds… Real technical stuff, if you want to know you'll probably have to ask Benny, Collins, or one of my doctors."

"_If I want to know__?"_ Mark questioned with a laugh. "You do remember who reminds you to take your AZT, right?"

Roger laughed. "Right, right…sorry."

"What about Tammy?"

"Malnourished, scratches, bruises, and all that shit, but she's doing better. She's been hanging around with everybody else and it's like all the life is coming back to her, but that'll probably take time." Roger shrugged. "It's getting better for her; she's still got a long way ahead of her. She told me the doctors recommended a therapist and she took them up on the offer…I'm not sure with the specifics." He sighed and leaned against his knee, delicately trying not to put to much pressure on his broken one. "The police questioned her last night and they'll need to question us sometime later…"

"Figures." Mark muttered. "Sure as hell glad they're interested now, though, it could've done us a helluva lot better if they listened before."

Roger grinned. "Yeah, but listen to this. Benny told me he got hold of the _Village Voice_ and they got a statement from Collins! He mentioned that Sergeant Michael Simmons and the bastard got fired!" Mark laughed, which made Roger's smile widen.

"Wait, what happened to Jimmy and Frank?" Mark questioned, his laughter stopping so abruptly that Roger nearly jumped. "Did they go to jail?"

"You didn't see?"

"See what?"

"They're dead." Mark visibly paled and Roger's voice caught in his throat as he realized the length of what he'd just said. "Shit…man, I'm sorry. I-I wasn't thinking what would happen-"

"No," Mark finally croaked after a lengthy silence, "don't apologize. I remember now. Frank shot himself and Jimmy was caught in the crossfire." He repeated the words for his own assurance, "I remember."

Roger frowned. _The one thing he shouldn't have to remember…_

"Are you all right?" Mark questioned. "I didn't see them, but I'm assuming you did."

The bloody images of Jimmy and Frank's bodies flashed through Roger's mind quickly, though they were gone as quick as Roger could blink. Finding himself unable to think of words to say in that particular conversation, Roger simply nodded his head once and averted his eyes. He looked up, however, when he felt a weak grip squeeze his hand, and Roger followed his arm down to find Mark, visibly shaken, holding onto him reassuringly.

"The police are going to question us soon." Mark's voice was but a whisper. "They'll want to know every detail that happened and what we did."

"Lucky for us we've got Joanne." Roger smirked at his words. "She'll know what to do. Plus the film and Benny and Collins's statements will vouch for whatever we say, It'll be all right."

"It's going to be a helluva few weeks."

"At least it stopped raining."

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Mimi played with the leaf of the fake plant in Roger's hospital room as she waited for him to return from wherever the nurse had taken him. They were quickly starting him out on crutches, saying his leg wasn't too bad broken and his arm strength was good enough to be out of a wheelchair. She'd spoken to Roger's doctor and he'd said Roger would need to keep a splint on his leg for at least four weeks, and then he would need to come back in and make sure the bone was healing all right.

Unlike Roger, who would be out of the hospital in a matter of hours, Tammy would be released by the end of the week. The doctors didn't want her released until she gained some strength back, considering she had been underweight and very fragile from staying in the basement for a year. Mimi kept a close eye on the woman and noticed that she absolutely lit up when one of the bohemians talked to her, almost _yearning _the attention. Still, the woman was a shy one, and, as Mimi knew from experience, it was hard to come into such a tight knit family. Tammy was different though, she seemed unable to stand in a large crowd of people -which was odd for a person living in a place like New York City.

"It's not horrible or anything like that," Tammy had explained to Mimi over lunch, during their own private conversation. "Crowds have never been my kind of thing. Since I was a kid I had trouble with all kinds of enclosed places: elevators, walk-in closets, and crowded rooms in general. It's claustrophobia, I guess…" She had laughed at that. "Probably wasn't good when I was stuck in a damned basement-"

"Hey Meems!" Mimi jumped almost two feet into the air as two arms wrapped around her waist, the odd reaction causing Roger to stumble back. "Jeez." he laughed, steadying himself on his crutches. "Sorry Mimi, I didn't mean to scare you."

"My fault," Mimi responded lightly. She placed a hand on Roger's shoulder and steadied him as she looked to the doctor at the door and questioned, "How's it looking?"

"Real good." The man smiled. "I just need to draw up some papers and we can get you out of here in about an hour."

"What about payment?" Roger questioned. "We don't have insurance for the new meds-"

Cocking a brow, the doctor questioned, "Didn't you know? Your friend paid for everything all ready."

"_Benny.._." Roger breathed a sigh and shook his head. "Thank you."

"No problem." He looked between the two lovers and said, "I'll just give you a moment while I gather everything up."

"Thanks!" Mimi called after his exiting form. She turned to Roger and questioned, "You okay with Benny paying the bill?"

"Do I have a choice? We're broke-"

"Roger," Mimi said sternly, "he's doing this to help."

Roger simply laughed. "Relax, Ben's fine by me. We talked about it already, I gave him my okay."

"Than why question the doctor about it?"

"My amusement of your reaction." Roger said, a serious expression plastering his face. "It was very well received too."

Mimi slapped his arm. "If you didn't have crutches I'd kick you."

"That's a relief," Roger shook his head and plunked down easily on the nearest chair. He patted the arm of the chair and Mimi complied easily as she gently leaned against his body and leaned her head against his neck. "How are _you _doing?" he questioned. "Benny told me you were worried because I had a fever going last night."

"Yeah, I heard that much of your conversation…" Mimi trailed off, she tried to avoid the question, but Roger wasn't stupid.

"Mimi," Roger said, "I'm all right now."

"But you weren't before…" A single tear fell, Mimi couldn't help it. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and said, "After everything I went through, almost dying after Christmas and going through that shitty withdrawal," Roger cringed at that, "I thought everything was supposed to get better! Not worse!"

"My T-cells are high, love." Roger brushed away her next tear. "I'm fine now."

"What about later?" Mimi questioned. "The future! Hell, even tomorrow!"

Roger frowned. "No day but today, Mimi. Remember?"

"I just-" Mimi fell onto Roger's lap and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I don't want to lose you, Roger."

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

_Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack._

Maureen bit her bottom lip impatiently as she paced the length of the hallway outside of Mark's room, her heels making the small rhythm against the white tiles. It hadn't bothered her and she wasn't really in a place to be bothering people, especially considering Mark's neighbor consisted of a man in a coma. Still, there was something that bothered Maureen herself all the same, though, it hadn't necessarily been the sounds that bothered Maureen, it had been the endless waiting. She'd been literally pushed out of the room by a uniformed officer who had been questioning the blond filmmaker and was forced to wait in the hall while Joanne gained access to see him -though, it had been because she was his lawyer.

Still! Didn't she deserve a chance to see Mark? Didn't Maureen earn a right to visit her sick friend?

Damn right she did!

_Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack._

But, no! Maureen was even shoved out of the room by Joanne after her lover had said that it would be a much easier process to go through without having her ecstatic presence in the room. Even after she'd promised to keep it down, not to say anything, Joanne still refused to grant her entrance into the room. So, there she was now, in the hallway, pacing, ignoring the _click, clacks _of her own shoes…waiting…waiting….waiting…

_Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack._

An hour of waiting.

_Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack._

An hour of wondering. Wondering whether Mark was all right. Wondering how Roger was coping with all of it. Wondering what would happen to Tammy once this was all over. Wondering who the next person to end up in the hospital would be…the next one to di-

_Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack._

Finally, feeling little to no energy left in her, Maureen flopped down on one of the plastic chairs in the hallway and buried her face into her hands. She didn't cry, for there didn't seem to be a point for tears, but she did mourn April and Angel and Tammy, and Mark and Roger's newfound pains. Maureen mourned the fact that she'd hurt Mark and Joanne when she'd been dating them, and she cursed the fact she wasn't big enough to admit she was afraid of commitment.

Commitment meant things were real, though. And commitment meant the future was coming.

And Maureen was afraid of the future.

Her friends dying… that was the future.

Collins, Mimi, Roger…

Hell, only time would tell if Joanne, Mark, Benny, and even herself would live long enough.

Wiping a hand across her face tiredly, Maureen squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. There was another time to think about the nightmares of the future, but, as long as they weren't happening right now, Maureen would settle on the nightmares and joys of today.

Of right now.

_No day but today._

Maureen nodded to herself and soon found Joanne tapping her shoulder. "Honey bear?" the dark-skinned lawyer said softly. "You can go in now."

"Thanks Pookie." Okay. Some habits are harder to break than others. "Do you mind if I talk to Marky alone for a minute?"

"Go ahead."

Walking into the white hospital room had been like a daze to Maureen. She looked with wide eyes to find that Mark had occupied the lone bed in the middle of the room and he was lying fully on his back, and, though his eyes were close, Maureen could tell he was very much awake. On their walk up to the room Joanne had better explained Mark's _leg situation _to her, saying the filmmaker would have to go through physical therapy to gain control of his legs, though it might take as long as three to six months.

_It doesn't matter_, Maureen thought. She walked closer and looked happily as she noticed the familiar black-rimmed glasses donning his face. _He can see now, and that means he'll be all right again._

"Maureen?" Mark questioned suddenly, the croakiness in his voice startling Maureen. His eyes were open but he couldn't move his head, Joanne had explained that had something to do with his spinal chord and how it was very painful to move. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, Marky." Maureen sat in the chair next to his bed and scooted closer so Mark could see her. "How you feeling?" she questioned as she reached out to take his hand in her own and massage his knuckles. Before he could answer though, Maureen said, "Truthfully?"

Mark closed his eyes and opened them again slowly. "Better every minute. Honestly."

"Good." Maureen smiled. "I'm glad, Marky."

"What happened to Joanne?"

"I asked her to give us a minute."

"Is something wrong?"

Maureen took a breath and frowned. "I'm sorry."

Mark seemed to recoil at that. "Wh-what?"

"For everything I did to you that year with Joanne when I dumped you," Maureen explained. "I'm sorry." She leaned down to kiss his cheek and couldn't help but smirk as Mark blushed. "I was never good with relationships and I fucked up when I dumped you, I hurt your feelings and I'm sorry. It was all my fault when-"

"Wait, Mo." Mark coughed. "Jeez, what is all this?"

"It's called an apology, take it while you can." Maureen tilted her head and smiled. "I'm not good at apologizes, but I'm learning."

"Well, th-that's…" Mark stammered through his words. "There's n-no reason ta' apologize."

Maureen's smile fell. "After all I did to you? I _hurt_ you! And Joanne, granted, but it ended up affecting you more!"

Mark simply shrugged, wincing in the process. "Still helped me in some ways, Mo. Tha's nothin' to be ashamed of. Being with you taught me how to stand up for myself a bit more."

"But-"

Mark squeezed Maureen's hand weakly. "Don't worry about it."

"I want you to forgive me." Maureen confessed. "I don't feel right about this."

"Maureen," Mark whispered, smiling, "I already forgave you for everything."

And Maureen smiled.


	17. Exeunt

**Chapter Seventeen: Exeunt**

May 24th, 4:55 PM, Eastern Standard Time

Step… Step… Step…

Mark held on to the bars next to him with a hardcore grip as he inched his right foot off the ground and bit his lip from screaming out through the pain. His face contorted in obvious discomfort, but he bare the expression of a man in deep concentration. He felt his back give slightly and heard the creak of his own spine twist in his very body, though; Mark believed his mind was just playing tricks on him. The grip on the bars pressed tighter as the cloth of his black gloves wore softly against the metal. Another step caught a small smirk to befall Mark's face, though the pain continued to make its presence known. However, the cheering of Roger at his side made everything seem better; it urged Mark on as he took another step…step…step…step-

Suddenly the blackness returned in front of Mark's eyes, his once colorful vision becoming engulfed in the spotted black dots that had attacked him randomly throughout the day. Mark's vision wouldn't be the same, not the picture-perfect it had once been before the month of April, but it would get better gradually over time. The blackness was less frequent without his glasses, though, it was still there. It came and went quickly though, and, for that, Mark was grateful. Everything swam into vision again and the pace was set once again.

Step… Step… Step… Step…

Mark stumbled forwards as he cursed the pain shooting through his back. He vaguely felt a pair of strong arms enclosing around his waist as another pair took hold of his shoulders and straightened him slightly. "Whoa," Mark laughed slightly as he regained his footing and stepped up straighter and gave a small nod to the two men holding him up. "I'm okay," he said. "Sorry. Guess my back finally got the best of me."

Roger squeezed Mark's shoulder before letting go, watching the physical therapist, Bruce Wilks, do the same on Mark's other side. The physical therapy had started nearly two days after Mark was dubbed strong enough to get up from his hospital bed. It had to start early, though, for with the little amount of progress Mark had made so far it seemed as if the filmmaker would be wheelchair-ridden for quite some time. Mark would be in the sessions for at least two more months before seeing some better progress, and it would all go from there. He had, however, been allowed back to the loft, pertaining that he was extra careful on the stairs.

"Here," Roger handed Mark his water bottle before hobbling back to his seat. The musician was off his crutches, but he still had a splint and small limping problem. Still, Roger held his own as the best friend role and had insisted -for lack of a better, more appropriate word- to be apart of the physical therapy sessions. "You all right, man?"

Mark grunted, though, he said, "Never better."

The therapist simply rolled his eyes; he'd been told by Collins and Roger numerous times that Mark never voiced his pains. It hadn't changed, even over the incident of last month, but Mark truly was getting better at expressing emotions. Still, this was physical therapy, and Mark never came off as the strong one of the group.

"Wipe yourself off, Cohen." Bruce thrust a white cloth in Mark's hand. "Why don't we call it a day? You've all ready got an hour and thirty minutes under your belt, no need to overexert yourself."

"If I hear that damned word _overexert _one more time I'll strangle you." Mark growled. He'd hard too many people over the course of just one month telling him he needed to take it slow. Hell, this was New York City! Who took life slowly? "I'm fine for another thirty."

"You might be," Bruce continued, "but I've got another kid coming in here for his session. You're lucky you even got that extra thirty, the kid had to stay at school for some shit exam he had to take."

"Exam?" Mark questioned, head moving so he didn't have to turn his back. "How old is this kid?"

"Teenager, I think. He turned eighteen almost two months ago."

Roger frowned. "What happened?"

"He was trying to help some homeless guy when this gang banger shot him for his troubles." Bruce twiddled his finger hesitatingly. He wasn't exactly supposed to give out information like that. Shaking his head against his guilt of giving out confidential information, Bruce looked up and gave a small smile to the frowning men in front of him. He took the black wheelchair and gently wheeled it over to Mark so the filmmaker could flop down on it instead of having to walk the short distance, which would've caused a strain on his fragile back. "Look, he was a good kid, didn't do anything wrong."

Mark simply shrugged, a frown plastering his face. "No good deed goes unpunished. The story of my life."

"Hey," Roger leaned over and squeezed Mark's shoulder. "You are getting better."

Mark shrugged again. "I'm ready to get out of here. When do you need the payment for the next month's session?"

"All ready got it, actually." Bruce scribbled absently on the clipboard in his hands. "The guy, Benjamin Coffin, paid for this month too. Though…" Bruce looked up suddenly, his eyebrows furrowed in sudden realization, "I wasn't supposed to tell you that was I?"

"Probably not." Mark tossed his worn pair of gloves into his camera bag and fished out another pair, swiftly putting them on with practiced ease as he flexed his fingers through the holes in the tips. Over the four weeks of working through his physical therapy, Mark had learned the tricks of maneuvering around in his wheelchair, with Bruce's helpful tips.

"Oops." Bruce's face fell. "Shit, don't tell him I let it slip."

"No problem." Mark shrugged. He rolled around in his chair as practice before nodded contently and looked to Roger pointedly. "Ready to go?"

"Sure."

Roger pushed the door open and gestured for his wheelchair-ridden friend out first before turning to shake hands with Bruce. He thanked Bruce for the helpful session before walking out the door with Mark leading the way. The concept of Mark being in a wheelchair was still new to Roger though, and he had such an urge to help Mark at every second the wheelchair got loose, stuck, or just wasn't working properly, but Mark was different than that. Mark was still Mark through thick and thin, the filmmaker did not want to be the so-called weak one in their bohemian family just because his legs weren't working properly. It was like he had to prove to everybody that he wasn't any weaker because of his new disability.

The filmmaker and musician wandered through the various hallways of the county hospital before finally finding the exit and entering the windy breeze of the New York City air. Though murky, the warm weather brought small amount of euphoria through the two men. They were just happy it had stopped raining.

_Like Mark said, it's the time of the dying rain._ Roger chuckled to himself. _Whatever the hell that means…_

"Rog? You all right?"

Turning with a slight jerk, Roger smirked slightly as he realized he had just zoned out in the middle of the exit of the hospital building. He looked to the side and found a highly amused expression crossing Mark's face, the man had just made his way half-way down the wheelchair ramp towards the street. "Yeah. I'm all right," Roger finally replied. He shivered visibly against the wind, tightening his leather jacket closer to his body, and said, "Cold?"

Mark simply nodded. "Thinking about Benny?"

Roger was mildly confused, albeit he guessed a hint of wonderment crawled up his expression. "Why would I do that?"

"You two are acting like…I don't know…_friends_."

Walking up, Roger grabbed the handlebars of Mark's wheelchair, happy to see his friend going with the movement, as he maneuvered them through the city toward the short walk to the subway. "Is that such a bad thing?" Roger questioned as they moved. "I thought you wanted us to be friends."

"I did- well, do…" Mark trailed off. He frowned as he noticed the stares the New Yorkers gave him as Roger wheeled him onto the subway and fastened the chair near the door. He would never get used to those stares, those _looks_ he got everywhere he went. Being visually impaired was one thing, you didn't have to see the pity in their eyes, but being a wheelchair was different, you saw _everything_.

No more shadows to hide in…

Roger seemed to sense this so he formed a fake laugh and said, "Well, like it or not, that yuppie scum is _our _yuppie scum."

Mark breathed in a sigh, he would go with it. "Yeah. Well, it's a start."

"It's more of a start! It's a beginning!"

The length of Roger's words wouldn't hit them until they got to the loft. Benny and Collins were sitting on either end of the coffee table in the living room, on their knees, playing a rousing game of chess as Mimi looked on from her perch on the arm of the couch. Joanne and Maureen were at the performance space getting ready for the next protest idea and Tammy was locked away in her room, no noise coming but a slight scuffle of various objects moving around. She had taken space in Mark's room, a pullout futon she slept on.

The three in the living room didn't even move at the sound of Mark's wheelchair scratching the floorboard nor did they respond when Roger cleared his throat annoyingly and sarcastically asked if anybody was home.

_Ruff! Ruff!_ The only person…or, dog, who seemed to notice the duo's entrance, had been Blink. The brown furred bundle of joy leaped from the couch in the living room, leaving the side of a phased Mimi, and ran toward Mark. Blink jumped on the wheelchair and pressed his paws against Mark's stomach so he could lick Mark's face.

"Calm down." Mark turned his face so he could get Blink to stop licking his mouth, but he smiled and laughed nonetheless. It had been nice having the sole attention of the ecstatic pup and Mark was growing a close bond with Blink. The pup and Mark had become linked somehow, each were yearning for attention and each were happy to give it.

"What's with them?" Roger whispered out of the corner of his mouth as he absently patted Blink's head.

"Dunno."

_Ruff! Ruff! _Blink leaped from Mark's lap and bounded over toward Mimi again. _Ruff! Ruff!_

"They're zoned, man." Roger shoved Mark's arm. "See this is what happens when we leave them for two hours?"

"What do you expect?" Mark wheeled towards the coffee table and inspected the chess set admiringly.

"Weren't you two playing this when we left?" Roger questioned.

Mimi was the first to break the threesome's small silence. "They were. Still are. Same game. Same move. Same turn."

"Yeah." Collins barely even blinked. "It's on me. Just one more and…" he picked up a black knight and tapped it against his palm annoyingly before placing it back down to where it initially was. "This sucks."

"I'm winning." Benny spoke in a monotonous voice. "He needs to move now. I'll beat him next turn."

Mark blinked. "Really? Well, Collins, what about…" with hands moving effortlessly, Mark picked up the black bishop and moved it exactly five spaces diagonally. "There. Checkmate."

Benny looked to Collins. "Aren't you supposed to be the smart one?"

"Shut up."

Roger just laughed. "You spent _two hours_ on _that_!"

"Not two…" Mimi pouted. "They stopped long enough to make a late lunch."

Benny nodded to Mark. "There's some soup in the pot on the stove if you still want some. I think it's still hot."

Mark opened his mouth to protest, but, at the look on Roger's face, Mark nodded wearily and rolled toward the kitchen. The loft was easier to maneuver around since Mimi and Maureen cleaned it up that one month ago, and they'd spaced out the couch from the kitchen area to help Mark fit his wheelchair to and from each room. Granted, Mark still got stuck from time-to-time, and it was usually met with frustration by Mark's part, but he'd learned to let Roger and the other bohemians help him through it.

_Being handicapped is different from being visually impaired._

Better or worse, Mark did not know.

Hell, at least he had his camera.

Distinct parts of Roger's conversation with Collins, Mimi, and Benny floated through his ear:

"How's he doing?" Benny questioned, his voice desperately trying to be low enough that Mark wouldn't hear. It didn't work. "He seems better."

"_Seems_ is the word for it." Roger's voice. "Bruce says he's making progress…"

"But?" Mimi put in. "What's wrong?"

"Progress is a good thing, Roger," Collins pointed out needlessly. "Unless…there's something you aren't telling us?"

Roger simply sighed. "It's nothing."

"Do you always get this worried over nothing?" Collins questioned.

"Well…it could be nothing. Might be _something_…"

Benny wasn't a patient man though. He wanted facts. "Spit it out Davis."

"Keep your voice down!" Mimi hissed. "He's right _there_."

As Mark made an effort to nosily clatter through the dishes and silverware in the cupboards, he took a bowl and grabbed the spoon from the large pot on the tall counter in front of him. Mark carefully kept his back to his friends thinking, maybe if they didn't see him face-to-face they wouldn't think he heard them. Did that make sense though? Either way, Mark distinctly saw Mimi's finger wag briefly in his direction and watched, from the corner of his eye, to see Benny quickly swipe the hand down.

"He can see that!"

Truth was, though, Mark couldn't.

The shadows were back again, making their unwelcome presence known. It was as if somebody had turned off the switch of Mark' source of light. Mark watched the shadows dance before his eyes as he mindlessly continued pouring the chicken noodles into his bowl. There wasn't much to do as it happened, for it was gone as quickly as it came. Mark was careful not to hiss as he jerked from the shadows and spilt a bit of the hot broth onto his fingers, though a frown worked to the corners of his mouth as the burning liquid touched his pant leg and swept through the thin cloth of his pants. It wasn't the stain that had him frowning though…

Mark couldn't feel the heat in his leg.

He couldn't feel anything…

Mark blinked tears and shook his head against the thought. The whimpers of Blink at his side brought him back to the present, and he tilted his head and turned back to the conversation:

"…it's not like's he's doing worse," Roger was saying, "I'm just saying that he's been moving along slower than most. It's hard to bring up his strength after all that he's been through, and it doesn't help that we have virtually no money to feed ourselves."

"Well, I-"

"Benny, as much as I hate to say this, we do need _more _help."

Mark heard the smirk in Benny's voice, "I was about to volunteer."

"Yeah, well, I hate volunteers."

Figuring this was as good a time as any; Mark turned in his chair and held up his bowl. "You might want to get some of this too Rog." He took a bit of the noodles and smiled fondly. "It's real good."

"Me?" Roger cocked a brow. "I'm not really hungry. You eat it."

_Roles still switched, eh?_

"You're just as underweight as me-"

Collins cut in and pushed Roger towards the kitchen. "Go on Roger. Plenty for both of you. Mimi made sure!"

"Mimi's cooking-" Roger swallowed the crack in his voice and involuntarily shriveled at Mimi's glare. "Sure, love." He kissed her cheek and moved toward the kitchen to inspect the soup. "Looks good. Right Mark?"

Mark swallowed what he hoped was chicken and nodded. "Yeah. Real good."

Mimi simply shook her head. "Tammy'll back me up." She pounced towards the destined door and knocked. "Tammy! Tammy, open up!"

_Ruff! Ruff!_ Blink bounded for Tammy's door, skidding to a sliding stop across the wooden floor to stop at Mimi's feet, and proceeded to pounce on the door so he could scratch the fragile wood. Mimi giggled and Blink only responded by barking again. _Ruff! Ruff!_

"What is it?" Tammy called from the still-closed door. "I'm kind of busy!"

"Mark and Roger are back," Mimi called back. There was only silence on Tammy's side. "Tam? Tammy, are you all right in there?"

"Um…yeah. Yeah! Hang on, Meems!"

A scuffle made Mark cock a brow and exchange confused glances with Roger, but soon Tammy shimmied through a small opening in the door. She looked tired; a light pair of black bags under her eyes, and her hair was scuffed up slightly. It had been nearly a month since she got out of the hospital and each of the bohemians had a good eye on the woman. She hadn't taken the transition out into life as smooth as they had hoped. Tammy was jumpy, to say the least, and she cringed when anybody talked to her, was scared when they were walking through the streets, hid whenever they saw The Man, and she refused to go out at night.

Only Mark figured that it would be a hard getting used to the so-called _free life_ for Tammy. Hell, who could rightfully blame her?

Her bandages had been taken off and the scars were healing slowly.

Tammy closed the door of the bedroom and gave a small smile. Her green eyes were slightly faded, almost as if she was hiding something, and her brown hair had grown out slightly. It was almost mid-back length, though her bangs nearly covered her eyes. She gave a small nod in Mark and Roger's direction before finally noticing Blink and moving to crouch down beside the dog. "Hey there," she cooed as she scratched Blink behind the ears.

Mimi titled her head thoughtfully. "What were you doing in there? You've been locked up all day."

Mark looked up suddenly, very surprised at that news. He was even more surprised that when he caught Tammy's eyes she looked away quickly. Too quickly. Usually she was very open to her feeling with Mark, not just because he was one of the only ones there that understood what had happened -though not fully- but Tammy felt she owed it to Mark. Collins had taken the liberty to explain Mark's visual impairment to her and, not quite unexpectedly, Tammy hadn't taken the news well.

Frowning, Tammy replied, "Oh," she straightened and bowed her head, "I was just working with that new camera you all got me."

Tammy was a photographer through and through -almost as Mark was with his filmmaking. The bohemian family had gotten her a new film camera a week after she had gotten out of the hospital as a sort of _welcome to bohemia _present.

"Those damned things are tricky," Benny commented as he helped Collins clear their chessboard. "Are you working it out?"

"Nearly." Tammy smiled, the action not meeting her eyes. "Was there something you needed, Mimi?"

"Oh!" Mimi exclaimed. She pointed her finger in Roger's direction, "_He _won't try my soup! Tell him it's delicious!"

Tammy simply laughed. "It's delicious."

Mimi, however, was satisfied enough with that and turned towards her boyfriend. "See! _Delicious_!"

Roger simply rolled his eyes as he held up the bowl he had scooped full with chicken noodle soup. "Happy?" He swallowed down the noodles and almost cringed at the lump going down his throat. "Real good, Mimi."

"I hate that." Mimi mimicked, "_Real good_."

"Don't hate," Tammy said simply. "It's not nice."

Mimi looked to her and shrugged carelessly before bounding back to her spot on the arm of the couch. "We're going to the Life Café for dinner-"

"-as if we go anywhere else," Benny cut in.

Mimi ignored him, "-and Joanne and Maureen will meet us down there-"

"-as if anybody else was coming," Collins said this time, sharing a smirk with Benny.

Mimi ignored him too, "-then we're going to that bar on the corner-"

"-Maureen's influence probably- Hey!" Roger frowned, nearly spewing his soup in the process, as Mimi slapped him in the back of the head. "What was that for? They did it too!"

Mimi ignored him and turned to Tammy. "Are you too busy?"

Tammy chewed her bottom lip. "Well…I've got _things_ to do here."

"Oh, well, we can just order-"

"No!" Tammy bit back her yell. "No…It's some photography work that I need to do; it'd be fine if you were all gone." She forced a laugh. "I need some quiet around here when I'm working, you know?"

"Do you need any help?" Mark questioned as he rolled towards Tammy. "I can stay and help if you want."

Tammy's voice turned to a meek whisper and she avoided eye contact. "No. This is something I need to do by myself."

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Mark eyed the doors of the Life Café wearily, his mind wavering in and out of the rant Maureen had delved into after he accidentally asked her about how the new protest she and Joanne had been working on. It had been at least fifteen minutes and the diva had been at a nonstop pace at telling Mark every single detail of how the new factories should be shut down and torn down to make homeless shelters; _"…it's better than them polluting the air!"_ she had exclaimed. In the middle of it, though, Mark's mind had wandered back to Tammy. The green eyes she wore those two hours ago so full of secrecy, pain, and…guilt. She had been hiding something from them, and Mark desperately wanted to know what it was.

"Mark, are you even listening to me!" Maureen exclaimed suddenly as she banged her fists on the table. She cocked her brow at Mark's startled yelp before nodding to herself and stating bluntly, "You're thinking about her, aren't you?"

"What?"

"Tammy. You're thinking about Tammy."

Looking around, Mark was pleasantly surprised that Maureen was considerate enough to lower her tone so that this particular conversation could be shared in private between the two of them. Mark had noticed the tiny changes in Maureen over those four weeks since he'd gotten out of the hospital. It turned so that Maureen wasn't her usual _clingy, self-centered _drama queen-ish self and had leaned more towards her compassionate side, the side Mark had first fallen for way back when they first started dating.

Maureen tilted her head and pursed her lips, a quirk Mark had deciphered as Maureen in a critical thinking mode. "What's wrong? Do you not trust her to be in the loft alone? She's a big girl, Mark; she can handle a couple minutes without us watching her."

"How do you know?"

"I don't." Another blunt statement. "You never know, though, do you? You've just got to trust her."

"She's got that…_look_ in her eye-"

"What look?"

Mark sighed. How was he going to explain this one? It was the Pre-Roger-Santa-Fe look she had got, the look where a person's unsure of the life they're leading and want a concrete reason for staying. It was the look of a person who was unsatisfied with their whole persona of being where they were, doing what they were doing, and feeling what they were feeling.

The look of a lost, confused person.

Somehow, though Mark couldn't explain how, in those few seconds of trailing thoughts on how to make Maureen understand what he was so worried about, Maureen had got it in the simple blink of an eye.

"Oh…" she said. "_That_ look."

"Yeah…"

"You don't think she'll leave, do you?" Maureen questioned, her voice lower now as she realized the extent of their conversation. "I mean…you don't think, after all she's been though, she'd go out on her own."

Mark shook his head. "What else? She's trying to escape her past Maureen; moving away from New York and pretending that whole year never happened seems like the best idea in her mind."

"So? You know what to do!"

"What?"

"Catch her!" Maureen hissed. "Get up and go after her, right now! Persuade her that being part of a big group of friends is a better way of handling grief than going off on your own!"

_Get up and go…_

Mark frowned. "Mo…"

_Get up…_

"What?"

"I _can't _get up." He gestured uselessly to his wheelchair and rolled backwards in example. "Any other suggestions?"

"Just one… ROGER!"

Roger lifted his head from his conversation with Mimi. "Yeah?"

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

_I didn't know exactly what to put in this letter but I've been thinking about my choice of words every day since that week I got out of the hospital. I know it's nearly been four weeks, and I should've left sooner, but I got so attached to this life that I couldn't bare to leave. Then I realized how selfish that sounded, how…self-centered I was being in this whole mess. It's ironic that April is the month that everything took place, if it was coincidence I don't really know, but I think in a way April -our April- was watching over us. I was never a spiritual person, but that's what I've come to believe._

_There isn't much to say to all of you though, nothing I can say can rightfully live up to the words of gratitude I want to express to all of you for giving me a chance to be myself in your bohemian life. That's the thing though, it's your bohemian life. I tried to give it a while, maybe it would help me fit in more, but I couldn't get it. You all felt like my family, but I still felt separate. Maybe that doesn't make sense, but I'm working on it. After everything that's happened to me with Jimmy and Frank…I can't stay here like this. Not now._

_All the hurt I caused you all, especially you Mark, I feel as if I should go away for a while. I'm not sure where I'll go, maybe to Santa Fe like Roger told me about his trip, maybe then I can really understand what my place in New York is. What my true place…_

_I'll be back. I swear it._

_Love,   
Tammy_

XXXXXXXX

XXXXXXXX

Roger and Mark had made it to the bus stop in record time, just seconds before the doors could close. The old bus driver had at first been weary to let one of his passengers stall the strict time schedule of his driving, but he'd made the exception as long as Tammy didn't take too long -which she didn't plan to. So, there she stood, Tammy Carson with a brown messenger bag slung over her shoulder and a black suitcase wrapped importantly in her death grip. She bounced impatiently from foot to foot, obviously embarrassed to have been caught, and kept her eyes focused anywhere but at the calm eyes of Mark Cohen as he waited for a concrete explanation.

"Well?" Mark questioned desperately.

"I left it all in the note, Mark." Tammy's voice was but a whisper. "It explains everything-"

"No, Tammy, it doesn't. There are so many reasons for staying. What about Roger, Maureen, Mimi…me-"

Tammy shook her head, her eyes glazed with unshed tears. "I hurt you so much Mark. You spent a month visually impaired, practically blind, you'll never regain full use of your vision, and you're in a wheelchair! All because of me! How can you be so forgiving of that?"

"You've had it so much worse-"

"That's my reason!" Tammy cried out. "I can't just stay here and pretend I'm all right with everything that happened. I _need_ to get away from New York and explore the states a bit. Just keep moving around. Find my reason for staying…" The words failed her. "I need to forget what happened, forget my past, forget my…nightmare."

Mark frowned. "We can help you with that. Here. Stay here, Tammy. Let _me_ help you."

"Don't you see?" Tammy finally looked to him. She visibly winced as her eyes met Mark, his eyes having been so full of pain and regret. "Sometimes you need to lose what you really need to understand why you need it. That simple fact makes me want to leave more than ever. I'll find my place and if my place is in New York than I'll come back…I just need to get away for a while."

Mark's frown deepened. "After everything that happened…I thought you-"

"Remember that night when we were in the basement?" Tammy questioned suddenly. "The fire was building all around us, the roof was collapsing, Jimmy and Frank were dead, Roger was bleeding, you were trapped under all that debris, and I was freaking out?"

"Of course I remember, Tammy."_ How could I not?_ "What does that have to do with anything?"

"You said that once the rain dies down -the dying rain- it would become a time of peace. Everybody would find their contentment. There'd be a bit of light shining through all that darkness…that pain and suffering." Tammy tilted her head thoughtfully. "Dying rain. It took me a while to catch on…"

"Tam-"

Tammy shook her head. She crouched down in front of Mark's wheelchair and delicately took the filmmaker's hands in one of her own as another came to place on Mark's right cheek. "I need to find my peace."

"Nothing I do will make you stay-"

"I do _need_ this."

Mark smiled lightly. "Stay happy, Tammy."

Tammy kissed Mark on the cheek, her lips lingering slightly longer than they should have, before pulling away and readjusting her bag on her shoulder. She nodded thoughtfully to him, wiped her tears, and replied, "You too."

Roger, who had stayed back away slightly so the two could have a moment to themselves, came up slowly and wrapped his arms around Tammy. He whispered into her ear, "Your sister would be so proud of you."

"No," Tammy laughed lightly, "she wouldn't." She kissed him on the cheek and pulled away. "Marry Mimi, Roger. Have a happy life and live every day to the fullest it can possibly be. Then live more."

Roger nodded. "I'll miss you Tammy-girl."

"Take care of each other." Tammy stood between the two men, tears freely falling down her cheeks.

She gave each of them one last large hug and gave a small wave as she finally entered the gray bus. Roger pushed Mark's wheelchair so they were up to the curb and both men watched with heavy hearts as the bus drove out into the night.

"Did you really think she'd stay?" Roger questioned as he placed a hand on Mark's shoulder.

"No," Mark answered truthfully, "but I had to try. She'll come back when she's ready…I think."

"I came back, didn't I?"

Mark smiled. "Yeah. You did."

"Come on," Roger smiled as he squeezed Mark's shoulder, "let's go home."

And as he began to blink tears away from his now-dry eyes, Mark relaxed again Roger's hand on his shoulders and allowed the musician to push his wheelchair all the way back to the loft.


	18. Epilogue

**Blink Tears**

**----------------------------------------  
Epilogue  
----------------------------------------**

On a silent May night of 1992, Mark and Roger sat across from each other on the windowsill in their loft on Avenue B, the top floor of what used to be a music publishing factory. The two best friends shared a glance with each other before catching other's gaze and moving their heads back down to focus on anything but what was in front of their eyes. To them it was easier to ignore the world than to face it head on, but over that month of April they had, individually, learned to let out their emotions and deal with what was happening straight on without too much conflict.

Mark sighed, _Still, no matter how much drama we were sent into that doesn't mean the hardships immediately stop and we'll forever live an easy life. No, it's not like that, ever. Everyday we're still fighting for our right to live the fullest life we can, whether it's with the disease or without it._

Roger cradled his acoustic guitar in his lap as he strummed the odd numbered chords of Musetta's Waltz. One leg was tucked under his body as the other swung out over the bench-like seat. That leg was sore, occasional bolts of pain rushed through his body the first few days after he got rid of his crutches but the feeling was soon getting better and Mimi had told him the limp was subsiding. Fingers poised in the ready position, Roger strummed a new chord and felt the music vibrate through his body and stopped for a moment to remember what he had done before moving back to Musetta's Waltz. Music was just itching inside Roger and he needed to get it out. Roger took a deep breath and sighed softly, his green eyes moved up to look towards Mark.

Fiddling with his camera, Mark chewed his bottom lip and shivered involuntarily as he felt the steady gaze of Roger on his body. His vision was blacking out again and he did not want Roger to see his eyes glazed over and lost. Mark called those moments _Black Outs_. Sometimes it was when his vision completely went, an actual feeling of blindness, but mostly it was when he could see only the shadowed-outline of things –just like before. They came on regularly, but other times Mark had full swing of his vision. Those were the times when the memories of the month of April came rushing right back to him. Mark nearly jumped when a found squeezed his shoulder, but he still did not look up.

"Is it your legs?"

That was just another brutal reminder. Mark didn't remember what happened during his whole ride to the hospital, nor did he remember the so-called surgery that was performed on his spinal chord a few weeks ago, but he did remember waking up in the hospital with Roger at his side. They'd told him of his leg "problem" and said that the surgery went as well as can be expect, but Mark didn't really expect anything. Physical therapy was still going on and Roger came with Mark to every single session, never missing a beat when Mark stumbled or hurt his back. Roger was being protective to the point of annoyance; the only thing Mark didn't like was that sometimes the musician treated him like he was made of glass.

"I'm fine," Mark mumbled, the thumps of his headache growing. Advil helped mostly, but only for a few minutes and then he went back to trying to ignore the pain all together. Once he'd caught Collins slipping him some placebos, the sugar pills, but it didn't have any long-lasting affect. Mark used a finger to push his sunglasses further up his nose. He didn't wear his black-rimmed specs anymore; besides usually it was easier to hide his glazed eyes behind sunglasses.

_Usually_ being the keyword.

A hand worked its way underneath Mark's chin forcing him to look up towards Roger's eyes. He hadn't noticed Roger had stopped playing Musetta's Waltz until the musician cleared his throat and said, "You can't lie to me. Not now." Mark's eyes involuntarily closed as Roger's fingers wrapped their way around his sunglasses and gently tugged them off his face. "There. Look at me Mark."

"I can't." Mark chocked desperately. He tried to tighten his eyes shut but that only made his headache even worse then it already was. His hold on his camera had tightened though, and suddenly Mark had hung his head again.

"Mark…man, come on." Roger pried the camera from Mark's death grip and gently placed it down in front of the filmmaker. He rose himself slightly from the bench and carefully took the red wool blanket that was hanging off the dark brown couch before sitting back and draping the blanket over Mark's shoulders. "Cold?"

"…shouldn't worry 'bout me." Mark merely mumbled, tugging the blanket around his shoulders. His vision had steadily returned but Mark was still looking down into his lap, ashamed at the act Roger had caught him in. "Aren't you cold?"

"No. I'm fine." Roger replied. "Are you all right?"

Mark coughed down whatever had caught in his throat and finally blinked quickly, he still couldn't look into Roger's eyes. A small frown tugged at the corner of Mark's lips, but, nevertheless, he answered, "Yeah. I'm fine."

Roger frowned. "Why is it that you always think you can lie to me?"

"Maybe I try too hard."

Mark averted his sightless gaze, turning back to grab his sunglasses from the place Roger had previously discarded them and began angling them against the light outside. The illumination of the moon outside and the shining stars in the sky bounced beautifully through the large windows of the loft and magnified against the dark specs of the sunglasses. Soon the soft rock-rendition of Musetta's Waltz filled the air again and each bohemian was lost in their thoughts again.

The presence of Mimi Marquez was greatly missed by Roger that particular night, but she was working a late night shift for one of her employers over at the Life Café and wouldn't be back to the loft until the next morning. Since Mimi did not have a car, and Roger was too proud to admit he was scared to have his girlfriend walk home that late at night, Joanne was going to swing around after her shift at her law firm and pick Mimi up in the company car she got to borrow that week. They had figured Mark and Roger would be sleeping and did not want to be woken up from Mimi's late return so Mimi had insisted on staying at Maureen and Joanne's apartment for the night.

Hell, it was nearly 3:30 AM, who would've figured they'd be up? Definitely not Mark and Roger themselves.

Of course they hadn't planned on being up that late; just neither wanted to be asleep. After their short conversation from before they were just happy to be in each other's presence. Mark had found Roger's presence very comforting, his best friend had always been there for him in the past and the filmmaker just expected Roger to be there in the future. That thought always got depressing when Mark realized Roger wasn't going to be there in the far future. No matter how many times Mark joked about being the first to go –of course, those jokes stopped after Mimi's near-death experience– he had never really dug deep into his heart to believe it.

"What're you thinking about?"

Chewing his bottom lip again, a disgusting habit he picked up from Maureen and Mimi, Mark shook his head. "I'm not."

"You are," Roger insisted. He grabbed the neck of his guitar and moved it carefully out of his lap so that it leaned against the bench. "You're always thinking nowadays, even more than you used to, and that's saying a lot."

"I'm not thinking."

"Fine."

Roger sighed and Mark heard the musician shuffle in his seat, probably trying to find a more comfortable position. Mark tried to fight the urge to look up towards his best friend, and instead pulled his legs up to his chest and buried his face into his knees. It was a position Mark had used for the past month as a good thinking-inducer. The darkness, as much as it frightened him, calmed him and slowly his thoughts straightened. He could still feel Roger's eyes fixed on him though, and that made him all the more uneasy.

"What?" he finally questioned, voice muffled through his knees.

Roger didn't answer.

It was odd to Mark how the ignorance of it all unnerved him to a fault. It was questioning as to why humans felt the need to be noticed and not ignored by their peers, it never made sense –that need. What about the feeling of loneliness? What was so wrong with being alone that it drove people to near insanity? The facts killed Mark's mind, but one thing he knew, he felt it everyday. It was hard not to when you deal with the aspect of that actually happening in the future. Nobody wants to be alone; it's just a simple fact of life.

Nobody _wants_ to be alone.

Others have no choice.

A hand was on his chin again, but this time it didn't force his head up. Roger's breath came out in a steady rhythm and Mark could feel the moist clinging to the tips of Roger's fingers, his hand was warm. The musician let out a heavy sigh. "Your eyes-" was all he could get out before stopping abruptly and dropping his hand. The filmmaker felt Roger's grip on his shoulder and suddenly Roger leaned forward to lean his forehead against Mark's own.

At first it was uncomfortable, but Mark soon found himself drawn forward and leaned against Roger to the point they were nearly hugging. The contact was so welcome to that point in time though that it was soon instinct. Roger's hand on Mark's shoulder was familiar suddenly and Mark liked it, he liked the touch. Touch meant that this was real, that Roger hadn't di- left yet and was still with him. HIV and AIDS hadn't won.

Soon the two broke out of their odd-positioned embrace and Roger held Mark at an arm's length away, both his hands now gripping the filmmaker's shoulders. Mark dropped his sunglasses near his camera and looked right into the emerald green of Roger's pupils. The musician's eyes looked as glazed over as Mark's felt right then and there.

"She's been gone a while now," Mark whispered suddenly. He couldn't dare break Roger's stare. "Seven days."

"Only seven days? It doesn't seem like that long." Roger blinked. "You know though…do you miss her?"

"Why not? Do you think she's all right?"

"I hope so," Roger responded with a shrug. "She can take care of herself, I'm sure."

"Even after _that_?"

"Even after that."

_It doesn't matter to me. I still worry about her when I shouldn't, still can't sleep when I'm too tired to stay awake, still can't eat when I'm starving, still can't stay active when I need to be moving… Everything feels like the exact opposite. I need to be doing something and I feel like I can't no matter how hard I try._

"You're zoning out." Roger's voice cut through Mark's thoughts. An inaudible _what? _elicited from Mark's mouth, but he barely noticed it as Roger frowned and shot him a serious look. "You are," he continued, "when your eyes glaze over. It's like you're in another world. Are you sure you're not thinking?"

"Maybe." Mark simply shrugged. "Seven days. It's a long time."

"You haven't been sleeping as much."

"Well, it is nearly 4 AM; besides I can say the same thing to you."

"I'm worried about you. I can't sleep when I worry; you know that."

"You worry about Mimi. Don't worry about me." Mark frowned. He liked that Roger worried about him, truth be told, but he always felt guilty when Roger actually did worry about him because that meant Roger wasn't paying enough attention to himself. Basically, the musician was not good at multitasking.

Roger frowned. Their eyes were still locked. "Why do you look…?"

"Look…? What?"

"How come your eyes are glazed?" Roger ran a hand through his long brown hair. "Do they hurt?"

"No." _Okay, Cohen, a half-lie is just as bad as a whole._ "Do they look that bad?"

"Look for yourself."

Mark followed Roger's finger until he was looking head-on into the clear glass of the large loft's windows. It brought an image of the two of the friends in a sort-of squiggly appearance against the run-down, foggy glass. He couldn't really see his reflection though, it was too blurry without his glasses on –of course that would've explained why his headache was getting worse by the second.

"It's hard to tell." _Still a half-lie, Cohen, it's still lying._ Mark turned back and found Roger's eyes looking intently back at him. "You tell me."

"You look tired…worn out, really. Like you want to go to sleep but can't because you forgot how." Roger said. "Is that it? It's almost like when I…after April– well, you know."

Mark bit his tongue; he couldn't ask Roger the question that had been lingering in the back of his mind the whole week since Tammy had left. Hell, how could he not wonder though? Didn't he have a certain right to worry? "I was-" Mark stopped and shook his head, blinking slowly. He couldn't ask that question, couldn't voice his thoughts on that particular fragile subject… _Could he?_ "I've been thinking…"

"Yeah?"

"It's just… I don't know –"

"You don't always have to know."

"Roger…?"

"Yeah?"

Mark looked up again. His own ocean blue eyes met Roger's emerald green and suddenly Mark felt very _innocent _underneath Roger's concerned gaze. If the musician was more observant than Collins and Angel than Mark would've thought the man could see right through him and into his innermost deepest thoughts. Finally Mark shook his head and broke the eye contact, with great effort, and said, "Nothing."

"No?"

Mark sighed. He looked up and, not knowing why, said, "Roger."

"Mark?"

"Rog." Mark was exasperated at this point, almost as if too lazy to actually say Roger's whole name.

Roger shook his head suddenly. "You know, Tammy's not April, Mark. She's stronger than that; wouldn't take the easy way out."

Mark frowned, he didn't want to dig up bad memories for his best friend but he had to ask, "How do you know?"

"Tammy's her own person; she can't live under the name of sister-of-a-suicidal-druggie. Give her a chance to get over everything, just like she's giving you a chance to get over everything. As much as you both don't want to admit, but you both need to spend some time away from each other so you can get back to normal."

"How normal is _normal_ when you're in a wheelchair?" Mark's frown deepened. "There is no normal under these circumstances."

"Maybe it's not normal, but you need to cope." Roger shrugged. "It's been a month since it happened and it's not getting easier any time soon. Take it one stride at a time. Remember what you told me in the middle of my withdrawal? _Waiting is always the hardest part, but it's worth it, even through all the pain and suffering. Wait for the end results and you'll see._" Roger smiled. "It works. Wait for the end; and every inch of pain will be worth it."

"I don't like waiting."

Roger placed a hand on Mark's shoulder. "You'll see. It gets better."

"Rog?"

"Yeah, Mark?"

"I'm tired."

"Wha- Ooff!"

Roger stumbled back in his seat on the windowsill and hit his back gently against the wall as the light form of the blond filmmaker pushed against his chest and flopped down. The musician had to scoop down to catch him before Mark slipped off his seat and onto the floor. A small smile inched its way up Roger's lips as Mark's light snores filled the loft.

Roger smiled and gently allowed the smaller man to curl on the bench and rest his head on a pillow in Roger's lap. He pulled the wool blanket tighter around Mark's shivering body. "I'll be there for you, just like you were there for me."

* * *

**UPDATE (June 19, 2007)**

I've just finished editing this whole story in a matter of three days in order to take it down from the M rating I had currently had it to make it a T rating instead. Some things in some chapters may make it seem M, but there's not enough, in my opinion. Some is revised and I did tone down the major language I had used before. Hopefully, however, I haven't cut the quality and appeal.

**Blink Tears: **The titled came from the simple phrase I found myself using in many serious stories that went "(insert name) blinked back tears as he/she struggled through the emotions of (insert instance)". Plus, I added it to the fact that I got from the movie/play of _RENT _that the characters, particularly Mark and Roger, found it hard to express their emotions.

Thanks for reading. Thanks for reviewing.

HAPPY DAYS


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